Part The Second
by E. M. Pink
Summary: Part 2 of The Saga: What has really become of Harry? Why does Severus have an irritating urge to visit Snape Manor after his son's macabre funeral? And what can Dumbledore be planning? Read to find out. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1: Torture and Travel

_A/N: I am making no money or cash from this story in any way. The only way I am paid for pushing around J.K. Rowlings' characters is in my reviews (and flames), wink. So no prosecution, please – I'm only playing with these poor sods for my own amusement._

_Anyway, here we are. First of all, I realised that you all needed to know what was happening to Harry behind the scenes of Part the First, as it wasn't really fully explained. So, here it is – this first chapter corresponds to Chapters 10 and 11 of Part the First. Don't read this if you are averse to yet another cliffie.  
_

_And, as is often the case, the title says it all._

**Chapter 1: Torture and Travel**

Harry awoke slowly, groggily, staring at the dank walls around him. Despair rose like a viciously caged bird in his chest.

_It's true, then,_ he thought, dully, _they – they have me…_

With a silent sob, Harry tried to curl up into a ball, but his stiffened, stinging muscles wouldn't let him. What had his kidnappers slipped him the night before? He remembered dimly the slow, pleasurable walk in Diagon Alley, the glint in Ginny's eyes as she grinned at him, that last time, and –

The screams that heralded the attack. Harry shivered now, wanting desperately to huddle against the damp wall of his small cell, to protect himself from the sheer horror of the situation.

The Dementors had somehow come first, swooping down here and there on frightened, despairing passers-by trying to cast the Patronus, but not being fast enough, not being able to move fast enough, not struggling hard enough against the sharp, awful cold…He'd seen, fleetingly, two frightened adult wizards cornered, eyes blazing with hate and terror, screaming "_Expecto patronum!"_ over and over, their two small silver guardians not being enough to stall the seven hungry Dementors. Ginny had taken action first, screaming the charm at them, a medium-sized silver blur moving – running to help. Prongs had followed soon after, only just managing to break the tight circle of doom round the two pale wizards, who had collapsed into the dust.

The Death Eaters had not waited long to appear. The _cracks_ of multiple apparitions had enraged Harry, pushing him to dive into the fray erupting around him, snarling as his wand emitted random bursts of potent, destructive energy. The most borderline hexes and curses had flowed from his lips and his wand as he and Ginny fought back to back, and Harry recalled the surprise of seeing her red hair drift to the ground as a powerful stunner struck her – the way he'd shrieked curses at them all, until a sudden grab from behind – _he couldn't watch them all – he couldn't_ – had distracted him, and enabled them to wrench his wand from his hands and cut the Order medallion from him, filling him with cold, fear, and something worse – _betrayal_.

Harry closed his eyes.

The last thing he could remember, as he'd growled with impotence and frustration, was the telltale jerk behind his navel.

_No – no – _portkey, he'd shrilled inside. Then, all too quickly, there had been shadows round him, congratulating themselves, and darkness, and _pain_ as they poured a hot, scorching potion down his throat, into his writhing, fighting system…then begun to cast…

_Clang._

Harry looked up, to see the cell door slide slowly open, admitting – of all the people – Romulus Veron, and his shining, sparkling cloak.

Harry's head spun with the magnitude of this betrayal.

"You," he said, simply, still trying to gather his wayward, twitching arms and legs together. "You – you're here." Harry's left shoulder gave a violent shake as he tried to stretch his arm to rub his – still clothed – left leg.

"Yes, Potter," Romulus smiled his sickly sweet smile. "I'm here." Harry forced his hands to stop _shaking_ and trying to drag his uncooperative limbs together. He tried to think, but his brain came up with more flashes – _Ron's frantic yell from far away as Ginny's pale body and impossibly red hair crumpled beside him, Ginny's bright eyes just that morning when they were laughing at something_, something –

"You're here," Harry said, lamely.

_The sizzle of spells entering his body, boiling his blood as Rabastan Lestrange laughed so _happily_-_

He shook his head and clasped his hands – why were they sweaty? – together. "Should've expected you to be here," Harry felt himself saying absently. "Should've known…"

"No, Potter," Romulus' smile turned into a faintly nasty grin. "_Dumbledore_ should have known." The short figure crossed over to Harry's trembling, sweating figure and bent gently over him, reaching out to his dark hair. "You shouldn't have known, Potter," he continued, his voice soft and strange. "After all, you're just a boy – just a young, foolish boy who takes it into his head that he has some sort of foolish _responsibility_ for this all…" He bent lower over Harry, tracing greedy fingers over Harry's damp face. "So very, very _young_…"

"_Romulus,_" a smooth sneer came from the cell door, halting Veron's thin fingers as they began to drift over Harry's chest. The tall form of Lucius Malfoy appeared, leaning against the open door jamb.

"Lucius," the shorter man straightened, withdrawing his pale, thin fingers from Harry's torso, the hungry look in his eyes making Harry feel sick to his stomach. Suddenly, it all came together in his head, the way Veron had always looked at him, the constant favouring in lessons, the way he'd kept _touching_ Harry in that stupid detention…

_He wants me_, Harry thought wildly to himself, disgust and fear mixing together in his stomach, rising to choke him –

"You do know the Dark Lord said he was to be _untouched_, don't you, Romulus?" Lucius drawled, the sneer lingering on his pale face. Veron straightened fully, his face flushing as he glared at Malfoy. Harry felt a shudder working its way through his limbs as he closed his eyes, refusing to torture himself by watching this standoff, the spectacle of this _horrible_ man trying to – to claim – his body –

"What the Dark Lord does not know…" Romulus began. Lucius cut him off sharply.

" – he will find out, Romulus," Lucius straightened, gesturing at the now embarrassed traitor. "Finish your little…greeting, and go and wait with the others. His time will come…"

"I find that hard to believe," Harry found himself saying, "When I'm unchained, _Malfoy_." His body was shaking harder than ever, making him stutter his words, but he had to try, had to say _something_, _anything…_

"Oh, the Dark Lord needs no chains, Potter," Lucius drawled, a cruel smile drifting across his face. "It's an _astonishingly_ simple potion…if you set one foot out of your cell without a Death Eater, you'll strangle to death." Watching the colour drain from Harry's face, he continued. "Why – _with_ a proper escort, you'll be choking and shaking all the way to the Dark Lord's throne. By the time you face him, you'll be begging for the antidote…" Lucius' eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, drawing level with a smirking Romulus. "I've half a mind to test the mechanism myself, unless you ask…nicely…"

"I'd rather die than beg," Harry said, coughing hard as spasms shook him even harder. He turned his eyes on the still reddened Romulus. "I only hope to take you with me, you stinking _traitor_." Romulus' face brightened, and his high colour receded remarkably.

"Really, Harry? And how would you do _that_?" he chuckled throatily, hungry, disgusting eyes raking Harry's frame _again_. "Cough on me for my treachery, I suppose…" The cold look in Harry's eyes gave him pause for a moment, as Harry, through sheer will, forced the shaking to stop.

"Conjure a knife, like you taught us, Romulus," Harry slurred, a cold smile coming to his lips. "Bleed you dry…" His eyes narrowed, glowing softly with power. "Watch you kick around…in the dust…" Harry's eyes shut slowly, as if he was sleepy with pleasure, savouring the gruesome sight in his imagination.

Unseen by Harry, Romulus' face turned red, then white, again, as he took one menacing step towards the weak body before him.

"Don't worry, Romulus," Lucius' warm, aristocratic tones sounded again, filling the hollow cell. Harry felt a foot kick him in the chest – then _lower_ – he doubled over with pain, limbs awkwardly splaying out, unable to come together, his mind dazedly wondering what would happen to him _now_…

Lucius' voice came closer, even as a hand reached in and touched him _there_…

"I'm sure the Dark Lord will let you have your fun when he's _quite_ finished…" Malfoy's voice emanated from just above Harry as he went still with rage and disgust and shame as he heard the heated breath near him quicken in anticipation. The hand receded finally, filling Harry with an almost tangible relief, aftershocks of disgust and fear running through him.

"I do believe you're right, Lucius," Veron's deep voice came again.

And, as footsteps sounded, moving away, shutting the door on his pain and shame with a hard _clang_, Harry knew one thing for certain.

He would _die_ before that – that _man_ touched him again.

And, God willing, he would take him with him, into the cold darkness that swirled round him warmly, invitingly, that would finally soothe his pain…

* * *

He awoke abruptly, heat flaring nearby.

A hard kick in the shoulder got his eyes open, and another two raised him to his knees. His scar burnt with just bearable agony.

It was time.

Harry opened his eyes, and dazed, pained green locked with gleeful red.

"So," Voldemort said, savouring the word on his nonexistent lips. "We meet _again_, **_Harry_**,"

The Cruciatus curse hit him from somewhere behind, but did not bring screams to his lips. Harry simply accepted the pain, using the outright agony to fuel the rage within him.

So much, so much this _thing_ had taken from him…

Harry closed his eyes.

Hours had become days, and days, weeks, and still he sat in the cell, wasting away. He remembered the first time Voldemort had brought him to the gathering place, remembered when he'd still screamed from the pain of the Cruciatus, from the debilitating agony of the unnamed blood-boiling curse the Lestrange brothers favoured. At the end, Voldemort had stepped forward, almost negligently tossing Harry's wand between his freakish fingertips.

_"You only need to ask, _Harry_," the creature before him crooned, twirling the holly wand in the air with his yew. "All you need to do is beg me for the right to duel once more, and it shall be yours…"_

_Harry refused, bloody lips forming a soundless "no". Voldemort laughed, and twirled his own wand at him lazily._

He supposed now, dully, that he'd thought his defiance would make some kind of difference…

"Rodolphus, you've had your turn – out of the way – " Avery's smooth voice, made harsh with pleasure, intoned the slashing curse twice. With each incantation stabbing pain like never before implanted itself in Harry's torso again and again…

_"Since you resist…Imperio…"_

_Again, the pleasurable mist took hold. Harry's keen mind slashed through it, breaking the spell almost immediately, defiance giving him strength._

_"No…_never_…"_

_"Very well," Voldemort laughed, tossing aside the holly and taking up the yew. "Crucio."_

_And Harry had screamed for a long, long time…_

"Will you beg, Harry?" Voldemort asked, almost boredly, not even bothering to rise from his throne.

_"The Dark Lord grows impatient, Harry," Romulus' soft, deadly voice came to him, even as those awful hands touched him again. "I have made my pledge – he will grant me the use of you, if you do not yield – "_

Harry reached into his core, seizing the rage that had grown in him since that night, that night that that _man_ had finally…Harry's mouth formed into a silent snarl even as Bellatrix Lestrange's lilting laugh could be heard behind him.

He'd _bleed_ Veron tonight, if he had to do it with his own hands…

_"The boy has been…_used_, Master," Severus Snape's cold voice rang out in the gathering. _

_"It was my will, Severus," the Dark Lord replied, carelessly, even as the horror threatened to suffocate Harry then and there, and the pain where there should not have been pain – _

_"Heal him, Severus…"_

Harry remembered that moment acutely…the sordid memory lurched to the forefront of his mind even now –

"_You TRAITOROUS BASTARD!" Harry screamed, throat raw, seeing Severus Snape's familiar frame before his unsteady eyes for the first time._

_This betrayal hurt so much, so _much_ – _

_"Be silent, Potter," Snape spat, flicking his wand._

_My father, Harry thought, dazedly - my own _father_…_

_The now-familiar pain of the Cruciatus curse ran through Harry's limbs, but he continued to scream the words of malice, as much in hope as in fear and betrayal, as he wondered, in the depth of his heavily occluded mind, why, _why_ no one was there to save – _

Harry's stomach clenched in anticipation, even as the cold, comforting weight of the tiny Order medallion beat against his skin. Thank God he'd been wrong about Snape – he'd have gone mad at this moment, this very moment, as he felt the blood seep from crevices and cuts all over him…

_"Potter!" _

_The harsh whisper pierced through the dull haze of pain in Harry's mind, giving him the strength to curl himself into a ball – the extra torture hurt less that way –_

_"Potter – drink this – "_

_Harry drank, not caring what it was. He'd just be hurt more either way – what did it matter if it was his father that hurt him – it'd just be one more kick, one more curse, one more drop of blood –_

_"Stop rambling!" Snape's voice now held an unheard-of note of sheer hysteria. Hands grasped his shoulders, eliciting a violent reaction from Harry –_

_"Don't touch me – _don't touch me_ – " Harry muttered, increasingly louder, trying to scramble away from the hands – _

"Wonder what the Ministry would say now – if they could see their little _hero_, bleeding in the dust…" Lucius Malfoy's drawl, heightened with anticipation, hammered at his ears. "Wonder what they'd say if they could've seen you _begging_ last night – "

The Death Eaters roared with laughter, as Lucius affected a high, frightened tone. "Leave me alone – please – I don't want it – _please_ – "

Harry kept his eyes closed, holding on to the feeling of the cool metal sticking to his chest, trying hard to think of _water_, trying not to think of Lucius and Veron and their _hands_ –

More pain seared his nerves, and Harry began to claw at his filthy rags, at his violently itching skin – to make it _stop_ –

"Look at him," Lucius Malfoy's voice jeered, close by. "I bet he wants it _now_ – "

Harry tried to stop clawing at himself, willed himself not to cry out as Lucius approached him again, laughing…as those hands touched him once more, Harry willed the shreds of the last memory back to the front of his mind, reminding himself that this would be the last time…

_"Harry, _please_ – listen to me – "_

_The struggles paused for a moment, then continued. Suddenly, something cool and hard touched his skin. Panic flared through Harry's brain, nearly erasing all thought as his struggles and grunts intensified, the memory of what Veron had promised to do to him just after he'd been dragged into his cell filling him with abject terror. Snape muttered some incantation, and Harry's body stilled, magically. Harry began to cry, the tears coming from the well deep within him. It drained dry abruptly, turning his weeping into dry sobs as Snape's hands ran over his body, preparing him for who knows what._

_"Drink – please – "_

_Harry drank again, his heartbeat starting to slow. Whatever Snape wanted to do to him would be done soon – nothing really mattered anymore –_

_"Harry, here…" Harry felt the cold object being bound to his neck, "…_that_ is an Order medallion keyed to you – yours was – it was removed in the attack." Snape's arms abruptly encircled him, lifting him up, forcing him to open his eyes. "Listen to me, Harry – the next time Voldemort tells you to – to beg, do it – try and fire off one of those confusion spells you practiced in my – my dungeon – I'll – I'll try to reach you and give you a portkey – it'll activate when you say the password " help"… Harry? Can you say that?"_

_"Yes," Harry ground out, somehow, hope welling in his chest against his will as Snape's arms tightened painfully._

_"Forgive me – there is no other way – Albus needs me – I could not – I was – I could not help – "_

_"Go." Harry could hear the footsteps approaching; his hearing had been honed by several days of waiting and listening – for those soft, crisp footsteps that heralded the return of that – that _man_…_

_Snape squeezed him fiercely once more, now spitting out words of abuse and rising, barking a mild curse that Harry started to scream hoarsely to –_

_And was gone. The voice and footsteps that spoke laughingly to Severus belonged to – to Lucius Malfoy, who had returned to check on their _famous_ captive, and perhaps to touch him like he and Veron had last night –_

_Harry shielded the medallion with his body, and began to collect his rage and pain, began to stockpile every shred of magical energy he possessed for what he now hoped would be his final confrontation with the Dark Lord. _

_For now, he allowed himself to hope. _

_The cell door shut, and he could hear footsteps walking away, and the betrayal he'd felt on hearing his father's voice lessened a little, as he realised Severus had persuaded Lucius to wait for the evening's 'festivities' instead…_

"I'll do it," his voice rang out, even as the pain ceased, as Lucius' vile hands and limbs withdrew, as his limbs twitched. "I'll beg…"

Voldemort's low laugh cut through the jeers of the Death Eaters.

"Beg, then, Potter – and do not waste my time," Voldemort chuckled, red eyes gleaming with delight. "Or perhaps you require – persuasion, yet – " He flicked his wand towards a delighted Romulus, who stepped forward into the midst of the gathering, unbuttoning his robes, shaky with desire –

It was then, that Harry finally snapped.

Using his Occlumency to focus the roiling torment within him, he willed the sharpest knife into existence as hard as he could. Even if he died tonight, trying to escape, he wanted to slice this man wide open, and watch him gurgle his blood away into the grey dust beneath…

Amazingly, something more fell into his weak hands, made strong by rage.

The rubies on the hilt…the name…

The sword of Godric Gryffindor.

The whole clearing was still for a moment of absolute shock, at this boy, this foolish, abused, suffering little fool, who had –

The sword whistled through the air, Harry under it, Romulus Veron's scream rending the air even as his blood began to pour from the strange wounds that the sword and Harry's whispered, venomous spell left gaping in his body…

"_Crucio!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_"Abrumpo artii!"_

_"Diffindo Magnus!"_

_"Surreo Sanguia!"_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

The cries of spells laced the air, as Harry turned in desperation, sword in hand, calling to his wand, the wood responding to his very thought.

"_Accio wand!"_

And all hell broke lose, as the eleven inches of sturdy holly met its rightful wielder. Voldemort lost sight of his nemesis as the boy slashed through a circle of his followers as they assaulted him randomly, and began to stun and kill them in his acute need to reach the boy.

"Stand _DOWN,_ you _fools!"_ he shrieked, trying to find the boy's magical signature among the sizzle and slash of spells. Finally, in reckless need, he roared, "_FINITE INCANTATEM!"_ and all came to an abrupt halt. "Where _is he?"_

_

* * *

_

Harry's rage kept him going for one long, arduous mile, the magic of the sword seeming to coat him through and through, hiding him so he slipped easily round the thrashing Death Eaters that seemed, for a long time, to be everywhere – slashing _through_ one that got in his way, even.

He'd no idea where he was, and was rapidly ceasing to care. The sword was still light in his hand – _magically, no doubt_, he thought dazedly, avoiding tree roots and uneven humps of earth as he continued to run through the sparse forest that seemed to surround Voldemort's new headquarters.

_Snape didn't reach me,_ the thought thudded in Harry's brain again and again, as he slashed and ducked and ran. _He didn't reach me in time…_

Harry tried to regulate his harsh, uneven breathing, as a giant stitch formed in side. Digging his fingers into his torso, he encountered slick blood. He ignored it, his weary, shaky legs pumping as leaves slashed at his pale face. _What to do, what to do –_

His right hand began to ache – perhaps – the sword –

He kept on.

On and on and on…

The stitch grew, adding to the flickering, sharp pains and hollow aches that struck everywhere. Harry slowed, his breath becoming a desperate rasp, as he forced himself to keep going.

There _had_ to be shelter somewhere…

Harry slowed to a walk, and then to a stop, his body burning. Tears pricked his eyes – god, even his _eyes_ hurt – as he tried to will his tired system on, and found that he could not. He tried to slow his rough breathing, tried to gather the strength to go on, but could not.

His right hand tightened compulsively round the sword hilt.

"I won't go back" he spoke into the frigid night air, gripping the sword even harder. "I'll k-kill myself first…"

_The medallion_, something within him urged. Mind blank with exhaustion, he reached for it, and wondered why the cool metal burned hot; wondered what he was supposed to say to activate it; felt tears prick his eyelids once more as it grew cold again.

"Help me," he whispered brokenly to the surrounding forest. "_Help me_…"

_Master?_

A low hiss seemed to come from nearby. Harry shook his head violently, fearing he'd gone mad –

_Master – you spoke – you need help –_

A cold coil slithered slowly onto his foot, startling him. Harry dropped his gaze – a _snake_ –

Relief like nothing he'd known for the past hour blossomed through his chest. Harry bent painfully, nudging the snake; picking it up when it wove its almost invisible head sluggishly in his general direction.

_I need help_…Harry hissed softly, holding the snake closer to his warmth. _Is there – shelter – big enough for my kind – nearby?_

The snake sluggishly wound round his left arm, its dark head glittering like a large jewel in the dim light. Harry, lowering the strangely light sword of Gryffindor, began to shiver in cold and exhaustion. _Maybe I didn't say that right – maybe the snake didn't understa –_

_There is shelter close by,_ came the snake's sleepy hiss. _Follow the path you have chosen, master – you will enter a clearing – there is an empty farm there. _It paused. _Will that shelter you well?_

_It will,_ Harry replied, his voice rough with hope. He began to move, calling, though he did not realise it, on the magic in the sword to keep him moving till he found the farm. He walked for what seemed like hours, stumbling over tree roots and weakly slashing against the branches in his way. Suddenly, there was fresher air before him – he'd reached the clearing.

Harry gritted his teeth as he looked about. The farm, as the snake – now asleep – had told him, was truly empty, consisting of a small, run down stone cottage. The medium-sized barn beside it was even worse, the wooden walls rotted through in places. But the barn was closest, and Harry's extra magical energy was nearing its limit, and he knew he had to cast _some_ wards if he wanted to remain alive and unnoticed till he could move properly again, so he turned toward it, feeling the snake's coils rustle sleepily, moving higher up his arm, tongue flickering out to taste the air of the hollowed-out clearing.

_This is the place_, it announced unnecessarily, slithering farther up his arm until it met the jagged cut on his left arm, where it stopped, tongue flickering out to taste the tainted blood seeping from the cut. _You are hurt_, the snake said, sharply, even as Harry slipped into the barn through one of the bigger holes in the nearest wall, ignoring the small swell of magical energy that seemed to escape him then. _Master_, it hissed again, as Harry dropped his wand shakily on the floor, now using the sword to construct the wards he needed.

_I am hurt,_ Harry said slowly, dropping to his knees, wishing for something to lay down on. _I will sleep now_.

_Good_, the snake remarked uncertainly, not really understanding why the human was now gathering rags to itself.

Harry, for his own part, thanked whatever power that had smiled down on him this evening. The rags were an insufficient bed at best, but he needed to – to sleep –

The world spun around him, and the last thing he remembered was the snake hissing in alarm.

* * *

"_The medallion!"_

"_He's alive – "_

"_No location – "_

_"Snape said he'd given it to him – "_

The crack of apparition temporarily stilled the mad rush of words and bodies in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, but only for a moment.

_"Professor Snape!"_

"_Harry – "_

"_BE QUIET!"_ Snape roared hoarsely through the room, silencing the pale, frightened faces that confronted him. "He escaped – " The room exploded into words and hands reaching for him – "Wait – I could not reach him – they haven't found him – must tell – must tell Albus – must tell him – " The cries of dismay that filled the room shook the walls, Mrs. Weasley's wailing, the loudest of them all.

"_Oh my **god**_…"

Snape, exhausted and disheartened, could not speak even as more Order members pressed forward, demanding of him what _happened_, and _where was Harry_….

"_Severus!"_ Albus Dumbledore's stern tone penetrated through the babble of voices. He pushed through the frantic group surrounding Snape. "Tell us – tell us what happened – "

"He called a sword – out of thin air – struck Veron – it was _madness_ – I couldn't reach – couldn't reach – " Severus Snape, for what was, perhaps, the first time, began to gulp, hyperventilating in his frustration. The whole room stilled in horror and dismay at the shaking, broken spy before them. "Albus – I gave him the medallion – I _did_ – "

"And you did well, Severus – "

"_NO!_" Snape's vehement denial cut through the deafening silence like a knife. "You – you don't understand – he's _gone_ – he – he – Potter – he wasn't – wasn't there…" Snape began to shake again, harder, beginning to sound incoherent. "Dark Lord – couldn't find – the Dark Lord – couldn't find – Potter – sent us – search the forest – the Hollow – "

"Calm yourself, Severus – you did your best…"

"_The Hollow_," Severus Snape repeated, even as a sleeping draught was pressed to his violently shaking lips, as hands forced him to a sitting position in one of the kitchen chairs, "Must search – Hollow – follow the – the medallion…"

And, as Severus Snape, Death Eater and Order spy, descended dizzyingly fast into the encroaching darkness, the last thing he heard was the voice of Dumbledore, as he examined the vibrating medallion on Snape's chest.

"Harry – _Stone Hollow_ – "

Unnoticed by Snape, the whole room, once again, went still.

* * *

_A/N:_

_And so begins Part the Second of the Saga of Tobias Snape. As you may easily have guessed, this part of my saga is going to answer a lot of questions – from the last few chapters of Part the First, at the very least, to begin with. _

_I'm already modifying Chapter 2 – which is going unnamed for now, as I make a few decisions and tidy up the chapter I had prepared. It should be up later tonight, or tomorrow morning, at the least. That said, I'm sorry for the cliffie. ;) All in good time…_

_

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2: Stand At Stone Hollow

_A/N: The usual disclaimer applies. The title speaks for itself, really, and I can't be arsed to say any more, as I'm writing this _after_ writing the chapter, unlike I usually do. Enjoy…_

**Chapter 2: Stand at Stone Hollow**

– _Harry –_

Harry's eyes cracked gently open as pain smote him, _hard_, at the base of his skull. The sun shone through the rotting holes of the barn around him.

It was morning.

More importantly, he was _alive_. In the morning. The memories of the night, the last few nights, all seemed rather far away, in this sharp light.

So, Harry pushed them violently to the back of his mind, letting them stay there. There were infinitely more important things to do and think of – for example, finding out whether he could move again, seeing if he could put some more distance between him and the nights.

He tried to sit up, but found that he could not force his recalcitrant limbs to do _anything_, so he lay on his aching – god, the pains were coming back –

_Merlin_ – _that bloody – hurts_ –

He lay there for what seemed like hours, mouth working weakly, pain lancing through him with every single movement he made, murky memories swirling out of reach –

Then, suddenly, he heard a – a hissing, from somewhere – _Master, are you awake?_

He could barely move his lips, but he tried.

_Yess…sword…need…_

_You desire your weapon?_ The snake asked him, dark head poking into view, hovering sinuously above his own, tongue playing in and out of its slightly open mouth. _Why?_

If Harry had the strength to waste, he would have smiled. The – the snake sounded – almost _stern_ –

_There is…power in it…it…will help…_he managed to reply. His mouth was wet – with – it had to be blood, filling his mouth with that bitter tang.

He swallowed it, nonetheless. He was so _hungry_ –

A queer rasping seemed to come from nearby. It went on for sometime, filling Harry's hurting head with wild theories and thoughts of the snake – of which he'd already begun to think of as a friend – cutting or somehow harming itself on the –

On the sword, the hilt of which was now nudging his bloody, sticky, itching neck.

Which presented a pretty problem. How was he to take hold of the bloody thing when he could barely move his lips?

Head whirring with the hopelessness of his situation, Harry reached out, with all his strength, meaning to try to lift…his hand, which was moving, oddly, madly, to grasp the…the sword.

It was still oddly light in his hands – both light and heavy, as it dragged through his bed of makeshift rags, its heavy _scratch-scratch_ accompanied by the slither and hiss of the snake nearby. He ignored the lurking, pulsing flow of memories the blood on the blade aroused, examining the brilliant sword for damage. There was none.

He could be thankful for that, at least. He'd have to return it somehow – to Hogwarts – if he got _away_ from this rotting, blasted barn –

Harry stared at his hand, gripping the sword hilt. He still felt weak, but somehow knew he could move, if he really needed to.

_Thank You_, Harry said to the snake, trying to convey his gratitude by emphasizing the second word. The snake hissed dryly in short, sharp bursts. The painful throb at the back of Harry's head seemed to decrease in intensity as he puzzled over its meaning – what could the snake be trying to –

_I am female, Master_, the snake said, around more of the short bursts of hissing Harry was starting to think could be laughter.

_Sorry_, he hissed back, only to be replied with more bursts of laughter.

Suddenly, a sharp _twang_ startled him from his thoughtful perusal of his only companion – and, he admitted readily, saviour. He started to get to his feet almost automatically, halting himself and cursing when he realised what he was doing.

Sitting down, he gripped the sword tighter, just hoping – _praying_ – he _couldn't_ be found now – he'd rather gut himself here and now than –

The wards around the Hollow he did not know he was ensconced within _hummed_, somehow satisfied. Harry relaxed, instinctively knowing the intruder was gone.

All he could do now, he knew very well, was _wait._

The problem, now, was what to _do_ –

Harry eyed the bloody sword, not really realising that he was subconsciously using it to heal most of his worse injuries, only seeing the sticky redness that clung to it. Lowering it, he berated himself, lowering himself back onto his bed of rags, snuggling deeper into them even as the snake beside him hissed, somewhat disapprovingly – something about finding food while the sun was out.

He eyed the sword again, then closed his eyes.

He wasn't _that_ hungry. Not yet.

Unseen, the afternoon sun continued in its journey through the cloudy grey of the sky. Harry slumbered uneasily, tossing on his rags, his hunger needling at him.

It was taking so _long_ –

* * *

– _The Order –_

"Where is she?"

Lupin's hollow voice did nothing to soothe the jangled nerves of Mad-Eye and the rest.

"She's gone, boy," Moody whispered fiercely, before anyone could stop him. "And so will _Harry_, if we don't _get moving **now**!"_

"_Alastor –_ " Minerva's shrill, panicked tone rang out in the darkness.

"Minerva, she's _gone_, and keeping it from Remus won't bring her back," Hestia said, panicking. Remus started to sink down where he stood, seemingly overwhelmed beyond measure. The strong hands of Arthur Weasley gripped him, steadying him enough to allow him to sit down.

"Please," he started to half-rasp, half-sob, in Moody's direction. "_please_ – "

"_No_, Remus – we need to find _Harry_ – " Bill's strong voice came, cracking with the effort to remain calm in the face of Remus' despair.

"He's already _dead!"_ Remus spat out, dry sobs racking his body as many Order members looked away. "He's probably _dead_ – she's _alive_, she's _got_ to be nearby – "

"I _assure _you, Remus, _both _Harry _and_ Tonks are alive – and, most likely, with her, they'll get to _him_ first," Moody growled, standing up, his magical eye quivering with urgency. "Enough of this shit!" His wand flashed out in the darkness, connecting with his Order medallion.

"Alastor, _no_ – "

"_Point-me Harry!"_ snarled Moody, almost squeezing the medallion into pieces. It glowed, emitting sparks, and thick, golden mist that formed into the words:

_**STONE HOLLOW FARM**_

…followed by a bright golden arrow that pointed ahead.

"We're on the right track – let's go," the scarred man commanded. "If we know now – they know too…"

* * *

– _Harry –_

Funny, Harry found himself musing, he could curl up now.

His limbs were shaking again, with magical exhaustion and cold and something else he didn't know or understand. He supposed it was from the standing up he'd done, earlier on. Harry gripped the sword of Gryffindor hard, remembering how much blood he'd spilled the night before he'd stumbled into this cavernous barn and activated the Order pendant with his last bit of magic.

He'd been so _hungry_ when he woke up, the second time, that he'd given in and licked the sword – the blood had refused to come off – it stained the sword red, taunting him like Romulus –

_"Tell me you like that, Harry…"_

Harry snarled silently, his voice nearly gone, his hand clenching round the hilt of his sword so hard he could not feel his fingers. Slowly he tried to clear his mind, filling it with water – but that water turned to blood, his blood, his sweat, mopped up by that disgusting filth's towel –

Harry wished the bastard were here, so he could kill him again.

He'd used a dark curse, opening his major arteries using the magic of the sword, slashing open his throat as soon as he'd gotten close, watching blood soak into the grey earth and evil dim and die in those hard blue eyes…

Harry shook again, harder this time, with hot tears stinging his eyes and throat. He lapped them up silently, wishing he had the voice to wail out loud. Shame and guilt and disgust and rage wrapped round him, the touch of those disgusting fingers lingering on his skin like a disease…

Harry eyed the blood-encrusted sword, wondering for one moment if he could flay the skin from his body and be clean, _really_ clean…

_No_, he firmly shut down that avenue. _I won't give up now – not when my pendant is tingling, not while I'm alive, not while Lucius Malfoy still breathes…_

He could still hear Lucius' dark, amused voice, feel his smooth, aristocratic hands in places where they shouldn't have been…Harry closed his eyes, feeling a surge of magic rise at the rage that seemed to blossom to life within him at that _name_. Good. His magic was on its way back, now, it seemed.

Even as Harry rolled over in the makeshift bed of rags and filth, he let himself wonder just who he'd killed during his escape. Probably not Pettigrew, or any of the Lestranges – they'd hung back a moment longer than the other Death Eaters. _Jugson_,_ perhaps?_ Harry mulled to himself. _Not Lucius, though, the bastard – he was beside Voldemort –_

Again, the surge of hatred filled him, and, opening his eyes, he saw the rubies on the Sword gleam red as blood, and he understood, for the hundredth time since that – that _night_ – that he could, and _would_ kill Voldemort.

_And, as for Lucius…_Harry thought to himself, smiling madly, greedily, _I'll carve him up – piece by piece by piece…just a sharp knife, Lucius Malfoy, and me_.

A sharp pain flared in his scar, even as his Order Medallion burned. Harry forced himself back down onto his bed, frowning.

So, this was it. The man who had been destroying his life from day one _and_ the Order of Fools that had somehow failed to rescue him, were both drawing near.

Harry Potter ran his finger down the red blade of the Sword of Gryffindor, ignoring the apprehensive hiss of the snake nearby – the only one present to help him in this dark night.

_Let them come_, he hissed. _Let them come._

_

* * *

_

_– The Death Eaters –_

"Stone Hollow is just a mile from here, my Lord," Sevurus Snape murmured, his previously shaking body now deathly still, as he knelt before the Dark Lord, who was pacing the bloody earth in the small clearing, ignoring the flinches from the members of his Inner Circle as he raked them with his red, feral eyes.

"Do not mock me, Severus," he hissed, turning on Snape's cowering form. "I cannot feel him clearly – he cannot be so near – "

"The boy Occludes well, Master – "

"_Crucio!_ We had him for more than a week – he was weakened – you lie – "

"T-there are w-w-wards, my Lord," Severus muttered, shaking with pain as the curse ended. "H-he called the sword – there are wards – "

"Silence! Lucius – the girl – "

"S-stone hollow…" the demented mutterings of Nymphadora Tonks became louder as Lucius Malfoy, pushing his way into the tight circle of apprehensive killers, levitated her roughly to Voldemort's feet. "S-stone h-hollow…"

"She will say nothing else, my Lord," Malfoy offered cautiously, his demeanour properly humble. Voldemort snarled at him, such was his rage.

"_Crucio!_ I heard her myself, you fool," he sneered at Malfoy as he sank to the bloody earth, limbs twitching. Severus gulped inaudibly. It was a bad sign, a _very_ bad sign, when the Dark Lord's Cruciatus lasted for that long, and could still reduce Lucius Malfoy to a bundle of shivering flesh. Voldemort turned on him, and he flinched unashamedly. Now was _not_ the time for stoic pride – the Dark Lord was almost animalistic in his rages, and he was at the very pinnacle of his worst rage so far.

"Leave the mudblood bitch – there is no time," he ordered, striding forth, parting the now terrified Death Eaters like water. "_Leave her, Lucius! Crucio!"_

Lucius Malfoy gave up his dignity, and screamed.

Severus tried to hold back his shudder, but could not. The curse did not last long, but he could see Lucius shaking and _shaking_ as he struggled to catch up to the moving band of dark wizards, his pale face starkly white. Severus suppressed the urge to lag behind and finish him off – he would make him _pay_ one of these days, for doing – doing _that_ to his son –

"Ah – Stone Hollow – " Severus could hear the smile in the Dark Lord's deceptively soft tones as they approached a break in the trees. Suddenly, he came to a stop, as did all the Death Eaters, who rushed to follow him through the gap ahead. Severus made sure to end up beside Voldemort, and could see his cruel smile clearly. "Only wards – no matter – "

_Only wards that could save my son_, Severus thought bitterly, knowing he didn't dare to strengthen them. Not with his hated master so close –

"Severus!" He started, surprised in his thoughts of roiling hate, but recovered quickly.

"Master…"

"Check the wards – they resist me – stand back, the rest of you, _now_!"

And so it was. Severus stepped up to the wards, feeling them out carefully with his wand.

Severus' keen mind raced, measuring the simple, yet highly effective, wards. So like Harry to use them…they were almost _too_ simple, at first glance, but, as he examined them cautiously, he let a sliver of hope for his wounded son seep into his heart.

"_Can you break them?"_ came the demand – no, the threat.

"Yes, Master – but – "

"Then _do so_!"

Severus Snape, Potions Master, Death Eater, spy, and frantic father, set slowly about breaking the wards that now stood between his false Master and his true son.

* * *

– _Harry –_

_Twang._

Harry's eyes opened, his body stiffening with alarm. _Twang_. There – the wards – they were breaking –

_Twang._

– and not just breaking – _twang_ – someone – _twang_ – an enemy approached – _twang_ – and then – _twang_ – a _friend…?_

_Severus!_ Harry's heart sped impossibly, his skin tingling irritably as the protective wards he'd set up began to rip apart. It had to be him – no one else would break his wards so _messily_ on purpose…

_Master!_

The black snake's hiss of alarm brought him back to his surroundings.

_Master – there are men, outside the clearing –_

Harry bent, painfully, and picked up the warm coils from his pitiful bed of rags. She – she'd told him that, this morning, he could remember that – was hissing in fear and trepidation. Harry held the lovely, almost jewel-like coils close, stroking her head with one hand as the other searched for the still-bloody Sword of Gryffindor. He'd put it aside eventually, at some point, during the day –

_Hush, little one,_ Harry crooned as best as he could, tamping down on his fear as he felt the rush of magic that signalled the first test of the _Sepio domus_ ward he'd erected. _Wind round my waist, and I will protect you…_

_And what about you?_ The snake demanded, complying with his request. Harry smiled grimly to himself, fingers finally meeting the sticky blade of his sword.

_I will protect myself,_ Harry said, carefully pulling the sword toward him. The small snake had remained with him through the day, comforting him during his long feverish spell in the heat of the afternoon, and stubbornly refusing to leave him just three hours ago, when he attempted to send her away.

_So stubborn,_ Harry crooned to her, mind forming a quick plan. A wobbly grin appeared on his face as he called his wand to him and began to raise his sword once more. _Just like your master…_

_Twang!_

The wards wouldn't hold for long – but, Harry chuckled to himself, he could always set up more…

And he proceeded to do just that, setting up a tight, specific impediment ward as delicately as he could. So that, if his father somehow managed to break away from the Death Eaters, he'd have a head start…

_Do not worry, little one – my little Iona_, Harry hissed lowly, once more, letting himself believe it for a few moments. _My father will protect us_…

* * *

– _The Death Eaters –_

"What is your delay?" Voldemort demanded suddenly, his high voice turning to high steel. Severus could sense the new impediment ward beyond, but did not know whether –

"_Crucio_. Speak when you are spoken to, Severus!" The Dark Lord leered at him from above, the shock of pain having caused the spy to fall to his knees.

"I sensed – another ward – going up, just now…"

"You _lie!_ The boy _is_ weak. He merely uses his last strength to block my mind, I know it! I felt him weaken all this day, though I could not see _where_ he was – he knows he will die tonight." Pettigrew moved a shaky step towards his master.

"But, my Lord, the spell…"

"The spell can be performed using anyone, Wormtail," Voldemort said, turning on the frightened, rat-like man. "Why do you try to delay his death? _Crucio!"_ Wormtail could not keep from screaming this time, the dark tendrils of energy of the curse moving over all the Death Eaters, making them shudder at its power.

Severus cut the last ward down, and prayed to the gods for his son. Voldemort turned, smiling, to him, and spoke.

"We go."

* * *

_– Harry –_

The battle was underway.

Harry huddled in his barn, gripping the Sword of Gryffindor in his left hand and his wand in his right, having bandaged as many wounds as he could with the least filthy rags. The newly named Iona hissed comfortingly, yet fearfully from his waist. He made no answer, peering out at the crossfire of spells that lit up the gloomy hollow outside.

The Order had arrived only just in time, and looked like they were losing. Harry gripped the sword tighter, and hoped he could kill Lucius Malfoy before he died, for that was surely what would happen to him now.

The dark, tall figure of Voldemort appeared, cutting through the ranks of the Order before him, some standing their ground bravely, and some retreating carefully to the barn in which Harry was hidden. Harry ducked back, feeling strength seeping from him – he couldn't afford to stand there and watch, not if Voldemort was –

A figure, stooped, cloaked in black, stumbled for the barn from the direction of its only proper opening, and Harry's frame filled with panic. Hiding the Sword near his dwindled nest of rags, faced the largest opening, wand gripped tightly in his hand, shaking Iona off as he changed his mind. It was too dangerous –

_Stay there!_ He practically shouted at her, flinging her down next to the strongest wall, among the filthy rags he'd not used for his bed. She hissed fearfully, irritably, but stayed put, and that was the most important thing –

The figure stumbled into the barn, and its hood was low now, and he _knew_ that face –

"_Rudentis ligo_," He intoned, easily, still confused as the figure dropped to its knees, bound, the dark hood falling farther back to reveal hair matted with blood, and a heart-shaped face he _knew_ – "_Tonks?"_

The matted, dark hair changed suddenly, to bright, bubblegum pink. Harry felt his heart lighten immeasurably, even as he watched her clumsily raise her hand to her sodden pink hair, Acting on instinct, Harry fired off a little spell in that direction, wandlessly – a prank spell, really, just in case she wasn't –

She swayed slightly, and Harry threw caution to the wind, stumbling forward, seizing her as she tottered to her feet, snarling at his cautious conscience that the spell would take effect soon, anyway, and there was no harm – "Tonks – what – you're _here_ – " – her arms tightened uncomfortably round him, generating a stab of fear – "Ow – you're – "

Tonks let him go abruptly, grey eyes mistily raking his form. She squeezed him to her, tightly, again –

"I'm here – " She said fiercely, the strength in her arms waning as the spell took hold, combining with whatever was – dear _God_, he could have killed her – was she – _no_…

"_No_ – Tonks – please, _don't_ – " Harry moaned, even as he heard more footsteps – almost silent – coming –

"Ask your question, Harry," the familiar voice came gruffly, from the – now Harry looked closer – familiar figure of Mad-Eye Moody. Harry felt surprise blaze over his features, as he noted Moody's pronounced limp, his gnarled hand, the wand at his side, the blood on his cloak. He straightened, feeling a smile edge onto his face as he asked the only question he could really think of.

"What did I help you with, summer last year, in the kitchen at Privet Drive?"

"You helped me rinse off my magical eye, Potter – needs a bit of _that_ now, but it's hardly the time, is it?" Harry's smile widened, and he lowered his arm, breathing hard. Moody stamped forward, over to Tonks, eyeing her, turning her over as he checked her bleeding head.

Harry, boneless from the heady emotion of relief, let himself slide down to a sitting position across from the gruff ex-Auror. He stared at the floor, exhaustion flooding sharply through him¸ making him wonder if he should get the Sword out – it definitely strengthened him earlier –

And with the thought of the Sword of Gryffindor came the thought of the blood of Veron, and how it felt so fucking _satisfying_ to slash him open, because of –

The _nights_.

Moody, eyeing Harry's seated position, muttered a healing charm – or, at least, that was what it sounded like – at the comatose Tonks.

"Took you a while, didn't it." Harry could _taste_ the anger surging into his chest, feeling his limbs. His voice rasped irritatingly, angering him further, as he waited for Moody's answer.

"We had problems, Potter," was the only reply, as Moody shook Tonks sharply awake. Harry disregarded the odd action – surely an _ennervate_ would have been fine – "The Ministry was being attacked at exactly the same time Dumbledore had an urgent meeting with the Minister. We Apparated into _chaos_, spells flying everywhere – the Headmaster had to stay behind. Couldn't leave that bloody Orwell, snivelling on about where were his _guards_ and so on…there you are, Tonks – how the bloody hell did you – "

Tonks could barely sit up, but she smiled weakly, rasping out her words bravely. Harry felt a painful twinge of guilt, but shoved it aside – he'd had a _right_ to be suspicious of her – it looked like she'd been captured, those bruises on her face, the way Moody was talking to her, almost gently –

"…_knew_ someone got me…" she coughed. "Managed to hit Avery with a Draining Curse, Mad-Eye – _and_ Malfoy, when he came in…" The smile on her pale face turned nasty.

Harry joined her with one of his own – anything horrid done to Malfoy got _his_ approval, hands down, except when he could have done it himself – "A glamour and a Babbling Curse later, and _voila_ – he's me, babbling on about the location of poor old Harry." Chancing a look at Moody's frowning face, Tonks evidently thought to explain. "Didn't have _time_ to use the Portkey, or try Apparating – someone came in, and the place I was held was _crawling_ with Death Eaters…I just played along, pretended to _be_ the stuck-up bastard, and that."

"Well done, then – I wondered who that was, firing Stunners at their own people." Tonks grinned weakly at Mad-Eye's praise, struggling to sit up.

Harry stared at them both, having barely heard the words after 'portkey'. He licked his lips slowly, disregarding the way Moody looked over at him – with – with such galling pity –

"You've got – you've got a Portkey out of here…?" he faltered. Mad-Eye Moody winced – Harry didn't care, he just wanted _out_ –

_Boom_.

The wall – _Merlin_, the wall he'd put Iona –

Harry tried to move, but his bones imploded with _pain_, and a body had shot above his, shielding it from the debris –

His scar _thrummed_ with pain – _Voldemort_…

* * *

– _Dumbledore –_

He was too late – he could feel it, leaving the Minister behind, shivering in his opulent robes and home, eyeing his guards – scrabbling at the burning medallion, which seemed to flash with names – injured – hurt – dying –

_Finally_, a location –

He Apparated immediately, opening tired, fearful eyes to the chaos before him, cleaving through the Death Eaters that mistakenly tried to hinder his movement. A loud _boom_ paused the fighting – Voldemort was at the barn, duelling with two Order members.

Albus Dumbledore incanted, fear gripping icily at his heart. Blasting more Death Eaters out of his way, he watched, the distance effectively preventing him from taking any action, as Voldemort laughed coldly, seeming to look at something beyond the two pale Order Members – that was _Alastor_ –

Voldemort dodged a weak beam of light from the other figure – that pink hair, _Nymphadora_ – and sent off, in return, a long burst of strange, sickly yellow light that the obviously weakened woman ducked, too late.

Nymphadora Tonks went down with an unearthly scream that pierced the Hollow, so that everyone in it looked in the direction of the barn, momentarily, and saw, along with the Headmaster, what came next.

Alastor went down hard, a strange cutting spell seeming to douse him in blood. A bloody, shaking figure that could only be Harry rose behind his fallen body, sending off a bright burst of light as he stooped before him, emerging with the Sword of Gryffindor held aloft.

Albus sent out a widespread Disarming Jinx, hoping, _hoping_, as he saw Harry shout something at Voldemort, as he saw Harry continue to deflect –

Alastor rose beside the grim, skeletal figure which was dwarfed by Voldemort's thin, malevolent form, but was cut down almost immediately, blasted back into the rotting barn. Harry's concentration seemed to waver for a moment and there it was –

Albus' heart sank like a heavy rock –

Voldemort let loose another long, yellow stream of the unknown curse, and Harry's hasty, nearly invisible Wall charm failed. The scream that arose shook the clearing in its ferocity and pain, and the sword of Gryffindor blazed with red fire as it Harry dropped to his knees with a heavy _thud_ and a _crack_, falling further onto his face, the wand and the sword clenched still in his hands.

The dramatic fall – _our only hope,_ Albus thought dazedly, his eyes locked onto the scene before him – nearly masked the fervent hiss of a dark snake, now shaken irritably away, that had bitten Voldemort lightly in his thigh just as he concentrated enough to cast the curse on Harry.

Voldemort let out a long laugh, and remained laughing still as the enraged, desperate Alastor Moody tackled him fiercely, and fell, moments later, to the same curse. He looked piercingly across the clearing, at the deathly pale Albus Dumbledore, who could only duel, and hope, and _hope_ that Harry was not –

…not _dead_…

Smiling darkly directly at his foe, Tom Riddle Disapparated from the clearing, followed immediately by the Death Eaters that still could, one of them directing a piercing glance at the desperate Headmaster of Hogwarts before he left, a glance that the Headmaster did not, could not see.

Albus Dumbledore hastened, like a wild man, to the remains of the last hope for the wizarding world, shouting at the grieving, desperate Order members to _stay back_. Bending over the nearly-dead form of Harry Potter, he made a decision that would change the wizarding world forever.

"Is he?" the Order asked, begged, pressing closer.

"Yes." Weeping broke out – and not just among the weary, disheartened women of the Order. Remus Lupin staggered forth, his form convulsing with grief, muttering incoherently to himself:

_"All gone…all gone…alone….all gone…"_

Albus conjured a stretcher immediately, levitating Harry's 'remains' onto it as people sobbed and stretched hands out to him. He had to get him away quickly, in case he stirred, to a safe place where he could recover until the now whirling, nearly shattered mind of his wild-eyed Headmaster could formulate more plans to keep him safe.

For now, he was better off dead. If Voldemort came after him in this state, the War _would_ truly be lost, then and there, if it had not been lost in Harry's mind during the harrowing weeks of his torture and captivity.

Now, as he prepared to create a Portkey, keeping his face stern, Albus hit upon the perfect place.

"_Portus!_ Take the wounded to St. Mungo's if you can, Arthur," Albus said to the pinched, battered-looking man approaching him, trying not to look at the sobbing, hunched figure of Remus Lupin, who crouched at the foot of the broken boy's stretcher. "I need to – to take him – to check…" his voice faltered, as convincingly as possible. Arthur nodded wordlessly as Albus Dumbledore finished his act. "I will return to Headquarters as soon as possible, with Severus, if I can. First, I will – lay Harry to rest."

And with that, the bloodied body of Harry Potter disappeared, and had been seen in public for the last time for a long, long, time.

* * *

_A/N: You'd better appreciate this bleeding chapter, readers o'mine – the spectre of Chapter 3 does na please my weary eye at this late, Godforsaken hour…_

_To put it simply, that was rather hard going. I don't even feel like checking it over – except to spell-check or whatever – so any errors in it will stay in it until I get my homework out of the way._

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed Part the First! I'm unsure as to what exactly to do with the material I have for the next chapter, so I'm not sure of its name yet. It should come halfway during the week, if I can overpower the evil gods of college assignments on time. Until then…_

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	3. Chapter 3: Arguments and Accusations

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* * *

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_A/N: Usual disclaimer applies._

_And this is where Severus tries to tear Dumbledore limb from limb, after the whole fiasco at Stone Hollow. Yeah, my group aficionados, I'm switching to Georgia for my HTML updates. It looks _prettier_ though, doesn't it? __ I'd also like to remind the people in my group to please vote in the poll I put up – it's something concerning how long all of you think the story should be, really. So, vote away._

_Anyway, I apologise for errors concerning Potions ingredients and whatnot – I tried to refer to the (blessed) HP Lexicon as much as possible, but I must've slipped at some point. So, read for the _story_, not so much for its accuracy…sheepish smile._

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* * *

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**Chapter 3: Arguments and Accusations**

Severus Snape could barely stand, stumbling into the Manor as he was. The Dark Lord had ordered – and, even worse, _participated_ in an impromptu attack on a nearby, mixed town. They'd Apparated in and burnt every Wizarding home they could find to the ground, leaving twenty-six Dark Marks hovering in the air above the frantic town.

Severus closed his eyes, trying to make himself _breathe_. At least he was – there had been no one to torture – again –

He fought, long and hard, against the awful impulse to drop and weep, curling into a vicious, seething ball – like Lupin probably would –

The werewolf's name seemed to ignite a new flood of anger in him at Dumbledore.

It really wasn't fair – when Harry was the son of James, the Gryffindor bastard fuck-up of a proud poster-boy, Albus Dumbledore the Old Goat practically _flew_ to his rescue. Severus stopped abruptly at the worn, wooden double doors, grinding his teeth.

When good old _Harry_, however, became the son of Snivellus the Greasy Git, he was left to rot.

_Or_, Severus thought viciously, swinging the doors open with a muttered charm, _left to be beaten, tortured and – and raped_. He stood still on the threshold, acutely feeling the dewy morning breeze wafting his beaten robes this way and that, wondering how it could be so fresh, so clean, when someone – something of his had been taken, only hours before, so _violently_…

For a long moment, Severus just stood there, leaning against the heavy doorframe, faint with the _unfairness_ of it all.

Then, on entering, he felt his skin crawl, the wards of the house warning him, in little stinging, staccato bursts of magic, that someone was _there_. Someone, Severus thought, panicking, that did _not_ have the right to be there. He tightened his grip on his wand, pure fury coursing through him – it _couldn't_ be Albus, it had to be someone else, as he'd made sure the old, creaking manor house recognised the old goat –

He strode forward quickly, not caring to be quiet as, guided by the panicky bursts of energy from his house, he strode towards the hidden staircase at the end of the hall that led to the dungeons below.

Whoever he met was going to _catch it_, especially if it was that bastard Malfoy, somehow having escaped the final meeting to recuperate –

A ringing sound smote his ears, and Severus felt his wand torn from his hand, as he burst through the first door on his –

_Dumbledore!_

Severus Snape snarled, no longer needing his wand. _The old bastard is actually here –_

And he leapt on him, elation and grief and anger mixing in his blood, until he knew nothing but the irresistible compulsion to seize his old mentor by the throat and strangle the life from his weary frame.

* * *

Nine hours later, a dishevelled, confused Severus Snape Apparated just outside of Hogsmeade, as near to Hogwarts as he could, grumbling to himself. The last few hours were uncomfortably hazy – something his subconscious self did _not_ want to remember, it seemed like, as he couldn't seem to _think_ about those hours for any real period of time. It unnerved him, but not very much. 

After all, he thought to himself, heading swiftly for Hogwarts under the cold rays of the overhead sun, knowing he had to fetch some ingredients for an important experiment, he'd just returned from a Dark Revel after watching his bleeding son scream his lungs out as he fell at his false, giggling master's hand – he'd probably drowned himself temporarily in one of those fine caskets of ale that abounded in his crumbling cellar.

Funny, he could remember seeing…Dumbledore…

_Yes_, Severus thought, distractedly, ignoring the sombre mood of the teachers he passed in the hallways, _I'd still like to strangle that old fool_. Hot anger bubbled under his skin, seething quietly, but not really begging immediate attention. Severus could distantly remember doing something to Dumbledore – seeing his mentor's pleading, wild face before him, but that was all very strange – hazy – so he shook his head, thinking to deal with it sometime soon.

Sometime after the experimental potion, of course – _that_ was _very_ important. So important that he needed to make it in his own manor, in one of his favourite dungeons. It _was_ also rather heavy on Dark or almost-Dark ingredients, of course, some of which rather screamed the need for discretion.

Severus sighed to himself, warding his office door viciously, before retrieving an empty crate and rapidly levitating – or, as was the case for some of the volatile ingredients, gingerly transferring – the needed materials and ingredients into it.

His task abruptly completed, he dug out the open-ended Portkey he sometimes used when he needed to transfer volatile potions to – well – certain _persons_ – and keyed it to Snape Manor.

As the hooking sensation of the Portkey overtook him, Severus sighed again. He didn't necessarily _need_ to remember – he just wished he knew _why_ his head ached. He could treat _that_, at least, if he just knew exactly _why_…

* * *

Severus Snape appeared in his office dungeon a little over fifteen hours later, his chalky complexion and dense scowl betraying his anxious state of mind even more than his further dishevelled appearance. His robes were rent in one or two places, and sticky around the arms with something, Severus thought, rather dazedly, that could be blood. 

Of course not – it was simply an experiment gone wrong – he just needed more ingredients, as fast as possible –

He barrelled towards his open potions stores – _fool, you are, leaving them like that_ – and hastily refilled the half-empty crate he'd earlier removed with him with boomslang skin and various parts of newts and frogs – _Merlin, I need asphodel as well, and powdered bicorn horn, and they're not here_ –

Severus, abandoning his private Potions cupboard in his haste, dashed into the empty classroom to raid the student ingredients. He was not entirely sure what had gone wrong, but he needed to return to the potion, and _fast_.

Cramming the fresh ingredients into the crate, he Summoned the Portkey.

He had important work to do.

* * *

Severus, tired from the successful experiment, Portkeyed back into his office, setting the worn little brown book down on his desk and unshrinking the emptied crate of Potions ingredients. 

It seemed to have taken the better part of two or three days to finish brewing the successful potion, and he dearly needed his rest. He set down the crate and passed, as quickly as he could, through the secret entrance to his quarters. The extra spellwork he'd suffered through to create it was worth it at times like these – when he acutely needed his rest –

Sighting the bed, he fell into it, knowing dimly that there was an Order meeting he needed to attend later that day.

It really didn't seem as important as it should have been – that and the impending funeral. Severus tossed for a while, highly unsettled at how bloody _calm_ he was about the fact that his son's clean, empty shell would be buried today.

Giving up, he let himself fall heavily into slumber.

It wasn't worth worrying about, as tired as he was.

* * *

The meeting was very close to a nightmare. 

Severus Snape sighed, massaging the bridge of his hooked nose, wondering when it would end. He'd just finished a screaming row with Molly Weasley, and was in _no_ mood to continue ignoring the shaky, angry insults of the Weasley boy. He felt worn out by the experiment, which he was understandably loath to mention to the impressionable members of the highly charged Order, and rather anxious to return to Snape Manor.

Severus crossed and re-crossed his long legs, feeling impatient and confused at the same time. He avoided looking at either Dumbledore or Lupin, the former arousing a painful, perplexing mixture of anger and anticipation, and the latter bringing a buried, throbbing sort of grief to the fore. He sniffed angrily. The werewolf was almost impossible today – _no surprise there, the moon will be full tonight_ – and kept shooting hate-filled glances at himself and, more reasonably, and more frequently, at Dumbledore.

A small sense of pity seeped between the cracked armour of anger as Snape eyed their worn leader briefly. He seemed serene still, only sorrowfully so. The painful anticipation rose to the top of Severus' throat, and he looked away, trying to still his twitching, still-weary limbs. Lupin was still so angry that he refused to participate in the discussion of funeral security. He seemed almost bound by hot chains to his chair – kept twitching, chest heaving, radiating desire to be gone.

Severus sighed. The werewolf, even at times like this, when they were desperately needed, simply had _no manners_. He re-crossed his legs, sending a (twitching) sneer Lupin's way. If you had no desire to be at the frequently tedious meetings – well, tedious no longer, thanks to the death of his – no, he wouldn't think of – of that – Severus cleared his throat. It was maddening, the way his feelings raged about – fleeing in different directions…_What was I thinking of?_

He shook his head slightly, to clear it. He needed _sleep_ –

The meeting finally ended, after many more angry glances in its tired leader's direction from various other members of the Order, and Severus rose swiftly, heading for one of the small, out-of-the-way rooms on the first floor of the sombre Grimmauld Place. He needed a nap – so _tired_ –

It was evidently not in the cards, as, moments after, the enraged voice of Lupin seemed to float through the walls. Snarling, Severus leapt from his hastily transfigured bed, homing in on the commotion.

_Just my luck – having to subdue that useless excuse for a werewolf…_

The foolish bleating of the Granger girl met his ears as he happened upon the stairs down to the kitchen. Lupin emerged, looking positively mad with rage, forcefully accompanied by the tired, yet determined red heads of Charlie and Bill Weasley. Severus didn't miss a beat, ignoring the piercing howl from the man they were barely restraining.

"_Stupefy!"_ he incanted coolly, ignoring the similar looks of shock on the faces of the two Weasleys. He glared at them, now levitating the still-twitching, slavering body of Lupin away from the kitchen.

"Professor, that was uncalled for – " Bill started determinedly, but Snape was having none of it.

"And what would you have done, Weasley? _Wrestled_ him into silence?" Snape sneered at the two angry boys, now heading for the stairs at the end of the hallway, ignoring the shocked glances from some of the remaining, lethargic Order members.

"Well, we wouldn't have – " Charlie began to retort, but was cut off.

"He would have torn you apart in his maddened state, Weasley," Severus called over his shoulder, deciding to levitate the now fully unconscious Lupin to his reinforced room in advance. It wouldn't hurt him to sleep off some of his grief before the full moon tonight, or to sleep some way through it. Bill Weasley opened the steel door ahead of him, somewhat reluctantly, allowing him to levitate him to the mended, shabby pallet in the corner. "Leave the room – _now_."

"Why?" Charlie demanded, standing his ground along with this brother. Snape sneered at them both.

"Would you rather see him naked?" They blinked, blooming under Severus' sharp gaze. "He must be prepared for his change, and _I_ have seen to it before." He glared at the two fidgeting men. "_Staying?_" They left hastily, filling Severus momentarily with bitter satisfaction. Foolish boys –

He turned on the still, occasionally twitching Lupin, Banishing his clothing to just outside the threshold of the slightly open door. Turning away, Severus refused to let his gaze linger on the scarred, limp body, as it reminded him of another one – one that seeped with blood, and _screamed_ –

Severus shook his head, hastily Conjuring a short letter to the werewolf, and tacking it to the reinforced steel door with a tap of his wand. He had a strong feeling the werewolf would want to come to Snape Manor after his ordeal, and could not fight the compulsion to leave the note. Spelling the parchment to be indestructible and to repel dirt and – after a moment of thought – to be blank to the eyes of any other but Lupin himself, Severus stepped out of the room.

After a moment of reflection on the other scarred body etched into his memory, Severus stepped back into the steel room, casting a Warming   
Charm that would remain for as long as Lupin needed it.

Passing the suspicious eyes of Bill and Charlie Weasley, he adeptly restrained the urge to tell them it had been cold in – in Harry's cell.

* * *

Severus Snape, slightly disoriented, let go of the Portkey, his head still mulling over that odd password Albus Dumbledore had just used. 

_Alive – what could that _mean _–_

And, suddenly, as he followed the old man down the flight of stairs to the dungeons below, it hit him hard.

_Panic, _anger_, roaring through his veins like never before –_

_"Yes, Severus, he's alive…alive…alive…"_

_Harry – _Harry_ – lying comatose on that bloody, soaking bed –_

_Feverish activity, seizing and summoning potions, not caring if their containers smashed or broke after he poured a steady stream of them down the boy's throat, hoping with all his heart –_

_"Glamour – must be removed – "_

_Harry's body – seizing – going into shock – "Hold him, Severus!" – frantic cleaning spells muttered as he realised he'd have to get ingredients for – "No…too dangerous…memory…must alter – "_

_And he'd returned, weighted down with the heavy case, bewilderment stripping from him as he remembered again –_

_Harry screaming hoarsely – nightmares – _

_Those thin limbs shaking with such _violence_, tearing at Severus' panicking heart – "Albus…it's a seizure…must go…"_

_The mad, panicked dash into his dungeons at Hogwarts, brain clouded with uncertainty –_

_The odd blankness lifted again on _returning_, and seeing Harry, moaning feverishly, thrashing around in his bed –_

_Albus' tired face looming before him, wearily mouthing words of apology as he raged and raged at him, the argument suddenly cut short by a cry of pain from –_

Harry.

Severus practically tore through the heavy door, shoving it aside – the potion bottles and vials littered the room, like he'd remembered, and there was –

He stumbled shakily to his knees, seizing his pale, weakly breathing son in his arms convulsively, ignoring Albus' irritating comments. For a long moment, all he could do was rock the slumbering, battered body in his arms, his breath coming in ragged bursts, his black eyes wild with fear and – and hope. He ceased abruptly, as if he'd suddenly realised he could be hurting Harry, laying the boy's wounded torso gently back onto the pallet.

"I shouldn't have left that note."

"You did leave it, then?" Albus Dumbledore's slightly stooped frame drew closer. "I was afraid you might not, Severus."

"And with good reason," snapped the spy, repairing some of the smashed vials on the rickety bedside table simply to have something to occupy himself. "_Lupin_ will certainly smother the boy to death, once he gets here – "

"You seem to have forgotten that you yourself did nearly the same thing, Severus – "

"_Precisely_ my point – "

" – after you tried to smother _me_, of course." Faintly amused blue eyes met angry black.

"I'm not sure why I _didn't_, now." Snape, transferring the mended vials to a small iron tray on the floor, proceeded to neatly blast the awful bedside table into pieces as Dumbledore looked on rather apprehensively.

"I assume it is due to the fact that I told you Harry still lived." Snape gave him a dark look.

"You _assume_ wrong," he began, now transfiguring the broken pieces of the bedside table into four handsome, if rather stiff, chairs, a new bedside table and a small desk to replace the considerably older one in the corner, which was weighed down with potions ingredients, a cauldron, and other messy apparatus that spoke of the long, arduous battle he and the Headmaster had waged the last three or four days, all for the life of the nearly nonexistent young man that slumbered still in the ashen pallet nearby. "That last wandless hex slowed me down considerably – just enough for me to see that my _son_ was not, in fact, deceased." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, levitating three of the chairs to Harry's makeshift bed, which was lengthwise against the wall opposite the door to the small dungeon.

"Ah – I see." Dumbledore gave the angry man opposite him a piercing glance as he lowered himself into one of the chairs. "I suppose I may need that hex again."

"You _suppose_ right!" Severus snarled, almost dropping the silver cauldron as he turned on the old man. "What you did was _abominable_, Albus – and I do not know if I will _ever_ forgive you for it." His mentor sighed heavily.

_Guiltily_. It took a lot for the shaking, angry man to turn away, and not abandon the smoking potion in the cauldron, and _hex_ the awful old man to death.

"I did what I _could_, Severus – "

"_I don't want to hear it!_" Severus banged down the long-handled spoon on the surface of the heavy wooden desk as violently as he could allow himself to. "Save your – your _excuses_ for _Harry_." He turned back to the brewing of the potion, still seething, not daring to look when he heard the shifting noises of Dumbledore behind him. Silence reigned, punctuated by the bubbling of the potion and the heavy, strained breathing of the two men and the young boy, but was broken before long.

"The Enchantment Strengthener is not wearing off, Severus." Snape forced himself to answer slowly, without spitting. That _Strengthener_ had simply gone and _strengthened_ the effects of that horrible curse the Dark Lord had turned on Harry, amplifying magical powers of both Harry _and_ the blasted Sword of bloody Gryffindor, and combined to nearly kill him. All the while, the Glamour had eaten away at the already frail boy's strength, further weakening his magical reserves.

"It won't wear off for at least three _weeks_, Albus. It _doesn't_ wear off – that was the variation we used, if you remember." Severus remembered, all right – clearly remembered the insistence of the Headmaster that they make the change as _long-lasting_ as – as –

"I am sorry, Severus."

Severus Snape set down the long-handled spoon carefully, trying to make himself take deep breaths. The old – old _fool_ was obviously apologising for much more than just that slight oversight of his. Severus sprinkled a touch of bicorn powder into the mixture as carefully as possible, his anger bubbling as violently as the potion.

"It's not enough, you understand? Just leave it – just leave me _alone_, Albus, I don't _want_ to hear your pathetic apologies – "

"Severus – "

"Don't _Severus_ me! You don't know what it's like, do you, with all your countless friends and admirers and grandchildren and doddering, _nice_ relatives – " Severus tried to stop, tried to stop himself shouting again, but the words just kept pouring out – "I _told_ you – I _told_ you he was – all I – and you were _late_ – LATE!" He tried to loosen his compulsive grip on the edge of the desk, but could not. "I don't want to speak of it again."

"Please, I – "

"_Not again_, do you understand? Not _again_."

The rest of the night was passed in silence, punctuated by occasional factual comments from the two men.

* * *

Severus sighed to himself, rubbing his eyes. He was _not_ looking forward to this. Not at all. 

The werewolf was late – _understandable_, Severus thought grudgingly, _but still bad form_. The weekend had been silent, brooding – but that had been no real fault of his own. Dumbledore had _insisted_ he tell the werewolf to betake himself to Harry Potter's side as soon as he was able, so he'd contacted Lupin the very Tuesday on which his ordeal ended, and arranged to meet him here the following day – incidentally, the day of the reading of Harry's 'will', which Lupin was evidently eager to miss. He fiddled haughtily with the rapidly cooling cup of tea before him, then finally gave in and drank it down, wishing, all the while, that _Dumbledore_ had taken this thankless errand upon himself.

A grim smile rose to Snape's face as he set the cup down. Of course, it wouldn't _do_ for dear old _Lupin_ to throttle the Headmaster of Hogwarts to death in plain view of everyone in this small Muggle café, so Severus Snape – _Errand Boy and Spy Extraordinaire_, Snape thought spitefully– had been stuck with the irritating task. He fidgeted some more, wishing he could be with Harry instead – there was an important restorative potion brewing, back there – and not seeing Lupin's noisy, hasty entrance until the wretched man was almost on top of him.

Lupin's bleary, bloodshot eyes still seemed to have an unnatural, tawny tinge as he sat heavily in the chair opposite him, putting Severus further on his guard.

"Well? What the fuck do you want?" Lupin's harsh, guttural tone further unnerved Severus as he leaned heavily forward across the small café table.

"Just what I said in the note – a trip to my Manor." Severus adjusted in his seat, willing himself to be calm. After all, the wolf would be pathetically glad to see Po – Harry, and that would make it easier to –

"Lowering your standards, Severus?" Lupin continued, his tone growing malicious, his fists tightening almost painfully.

"I have no _idea_ what you mean, Lupin – "

"How the mighty have fallen – inviting a bloody _werewolf_ to your manor for tea and _fucking_ – "

"Don't be _ridiculous_ – how _dare_ you, when I don't – "

Lupin laughed harshly, madly. "You really never thought we _saw_, Severus? All those little _dalliances_ – inviting them to your cushy little _Manor_, poor sods – literally _pumping_ for information – " Lupin grinned tightly at his rival's flushed, angry countenance. "Oh, we _saw_ – we all _saw_ – I'm sure even _Lily_ saw – " Severus sputtered, his fury seeming to expand in his chest, _filling_ him –

"Stop it – don't – don't you – you know _nothing_ – no right – "

"I have _every right!"_

"_Keep your voice down, you fool!_" Severus tried not to scream in frustration and embarrassment and anger. "It's about _Harry_, don't you understand?" he leant forward, his voice a harsh whisper as he swallowed back his fierce, pulsing fury at the mention of Lily Potter. "The note – he's in – he's _there_ – "

"Don't you _dare_ toy with me – he's _dead_, Severus, leave me _alone_ – " The snarling werewolf shoved himself away from the table, making to rise. Severus reacted almost instantly, reaching for the Portkey at the same time as he grasped Lupin's ratty shirt by the fist, groping it for the angry man's fist as he said the password.

Lupin nearly howled with fury as the Portkey took them off, and leapt on Severus as they landed at the manor. Severus Snape fought hard, kicking the werewolf in the groin and pulling his wand on him as fast as he could. This was _no_ time for useless fighting –

"_Incarcerous!"_ Lupin was nearly frothing at the mouth, but Severus supposed this way was best – at least the odious man's gut reaction to smother the ailing Harry would be – ah – contained…

"Severus, what on earth – "

"_Harry_…" Lupin's hoarse, breaking voice cut through Albus Dumbledore's surprised, disapproving tone. "_Harry_ – he's not awake – what's _wrong_ with him – Severus, _let me out_ – "

"I will, once I feel your instinctive tendency to suffocate him to death has passed for good." Severus levitated the tied-up Lupin to an awkwardly sitting position on one of the chairs near the pale boy on the pallet.

Lupin wept like the fool he was, and Severus could not help but stop and sneer. After all, he'd conveniently forgotten his own little bout of hysterical chokes and sobs that first morning as Albus had tried to pry the shaking spy from the Boy-Who-Lived.

Lupin continued to weep, begging forgiveness from the inert, barely breathing Harry, even as Severus turned to the simmering potion that lay waiting on the desk nearby. He gave it a slow, clockwise stir, sniffing it as he went, ignoring the quiet spell Dumbledore used to sever the binding ropes.

_The potion_, he surmised, _is ready_. He rapidly turned off the heat, spelling the potion into the vials he'd charmed to cool their contents as soon as possible, thinking it was _about time_.

He didn't think he could stand one more sniff from the werewolf, anyway.

"Headmaster – the potion – "

* * *

_A/N: I'm itching maddeningly (curse all biting insects, CURSE THEM!), it's around two in the morning – I need sleep. Chapter 4 needs some serious editing, but should be up tomorrow afternoon. Sorry if this chapter was a little slow and all – I just wanted to make sure you guys understood what I was doing._

_Peace out, people._

_

* * *

_


	4. Chapter 4: Awakening

_A/N: You guys have been waiting for this chapter a while, and if you've kept up with my Livejournal occasionally, you'll recognise a certain snippet straightaway._

_This took a while to come out properly, plot points and so on notwithstanding. I hope you enjoy it as much as I got to enjoy writing it…_

**Chapter 4: Awakening**

It was a struggle to get his eyes to open. Once he did, Harry immediately realized his mistake. Bright light seemed to pierce the skin on his abused corneas, forcing him to moan and sluggishly shut the painful lids, even as what felt like a hippogriff stampede thrummed the walls around him, if at all that was what they were.

_That_ jerked him into laboured, painful action, forcing him to brave the awful light.

If he _was_ still in the forest –

"Harry, can you hear me?" A faint, familiar voice came from unsettlingly close by. Harry flinched violently, and the resulting pain threatened to send him tumbling back into the darkness. A humming set up – both of voices and yet not so; one tone seeming to stand out in its regular, low wail.

It was that, curiously, that made Harry cling to awareness, convincing him to force his eyes open again; allowing him to ignore the flashes of pain that still stabbed sharply through him.

"Harry?"

The voice was still distressingly close, but Harry did not let himself flinch – it hurt so _much_ – he knew that voice –

"Dumbledore?" he tried to inquire. It came out halfway between a groan and a mumble, and familiar, slightly hysterical voice joined the first one.

"Merlin, thank _goodness_ you're alive, Harry – you had us so worried – "

A snort came from nearby, further piquing the weary teenager's interest. That could surely only be –

"Be _still_, Lupin, or you _shall_ destroy the work of three hours and fifty minutes," snapped a very familiar, silky voice. Harry sighed inwardly, relief and consternation making a potent, heady riot of feelings in his heart and head. He'd worried that Snape – his father – may not have made it out of the clearing. Irrational, of course, to worry about such a thing – and that caused some of the consternation. Harry blinked slowly – _doesn't hurt so much now_ – tuning back into the man's long rant. "Valuable ingredients…_and_ force me to put the blasted boy in stasis _again_ – "

"_Stasis?" _It was Remus again, from further away, sounding just as alarmed as Harry felt on hearing the word repeated.

The thin boy shifted on the – _slightly lumpy_, he thought distractedly – pallet, tiredly turning over the various facts he'd heard about the medical technique. It was employed, he remembered uneasily, only when the patient was almost beyond help, and could easily expire within one or two hours until the requisite technique or potion could be administered. Harry shifted uneasily, wincing hard as the pain pointedly reminded him of his mistake. He felt almost – _empty_ – stretched, and thin, and only just hanging on by a rather wobbly thread.

_Can't still be in the forest, then_, he dully surmised, not paying attention to whatever vaguely reassuring shite Dumbledore was prattling on about now. _Sever – _Snape_ – would need to brew…I must be at Hogwarts…_ "H – Hogwarts…?" The word came out as pitifully stretched and weak as Harry felt, but garnered an immediate response.

"Don't be a _fool_," Severus' voice snarled at him from close by, his stern tone underlain by the sound of bubbling. A hot, smooth object came to Harry's lips, and, even with the warning and the promise of imminent pain, he found himself hard pressed to stop his automatic flinch because

_Veron was leaving – laughing away to Lucius about how _fun_ tonight had been, even as Harry continued to cry helplessly, wracked by the now horribly familiar pain in his lower abdomen…_

Dim voices called at him as Harry began to thrash violently on the bed – the memories were so raw, so close – the feel of hot, hard metal penetrating –

"_POTTER! CEASE – AT – ONCE – "_

Severus' roar seemed to shock Harry into recognition, and his screaming limbs gradually ceased to thrash about. His throat rasped horribly with each breath, but he just couldn't seem to stop gasping. He opened his eyes once more and, finding a relatively indistinct black blur hovering over him, focused on it intently, willing away the cold, clammy grip of terror.

"Calm yourself, Harry," Dumbledore's slightly quickened tone came from farther away. "You need to drink that potion as soon as you possibly – "

"You'll drink it or perish, Potter," Snape cut in, his tone implacable. It seemed to come from the direction of the blur hovering over him, which settled into something – probably a chair – nearby, retrieving a shiny vial. Or, at least, that was what he _thought_ it was. "Drink – _now_." Harry obeyed, quelling his fear as the hot object – vial, rather – approached him ominously. The potion burned horribly and tasted of something markedly similar to dung, but Harry choked it down nevertheless.

"You didn't have to be so bloody harsh with him, you know – " Remus' indignant tone came from close by. Harry could practically _feel_ his – well – _father_, he supposed he could call him that – sneer nearby as he replied.

"He needs to be told the truth as it is, Lupin, not coddled like _you_ evidently think is prudent – "

"Severus, Remus, for Merlin's _sake_ – " Dumbledore tried to cut in. Snape and Lupin continued to argue hotly regardless, and something Remus said – or, rather, shouted – reminded Harry intimately of something he'd previously not remembered to ask.

"Dumble – how – Tonks – " He coughed hard, feeling frustrated with his ability to make himself heard, but somehow Dumbledore replied his low, weak words.

"Nymphadora and Moody will be fine, Harry," Dumbledore's voice seemed to shift, a pale blur emerging on Harry's right. "They should be released in time for the hearing of your will on Friday – "

"Will?" Severus and Remus stopped arguing at that. Harry felt his chest tighten with both dread and anticipation as the white blur shifted slightly, the chair it was probably seated on creaking in protest.

"Yes, _your_ will." Harry closed his eyes, stung. Could it be – "I did it for your safety, Harry; you were barely alive, and in need of serious and immediate treatment, and if the Wizarding world did not believe you already dead, healing you would have been even more difficult than it has already been." A snort came from nearby – Snape again, of course.

"I had to put you in stasis one or two nights ago, Ha – Potter," Snape paused, evidently disgusted with his use of Harry's first name. Remus' own snort could be heard as the spy stuttered over the name, but that did not deter him. He soldered on, seeming to move away from Harry. "The curse Voldemort used on you lingered unnaturally, due to the presence of the Enchantment Strengthener in your system, and complicated your treatment heavily."

"I have not seen that curse used for nigh on fifty years," Dumbledore's weary tone came from Harry's right. Harry opened his eyes slowly, trying to see more detail on the white blur beside him, but failed. "It worried me greatly to see Tom use it three times in the same duel, as well – it is a notoriously draining curse to perform, and that signifies that he has become much stronger."

"Bad news all round, as usual," Remus put in, trying to inject some life into his tired, strained tone. Harry wondered bitterly what _else_ could go wrong in the war – what with Voldemort getting stronger and garnering more new recruits, the prospect of defeating him seemed even more bleak than usual.

_That is_, Harry surmised bitterly, _if my – my magic is still okay_…

Almost as if he could read Harry's mind – which he _couldn't_, the boy immediately thought, as he'd been Occluding non-stop ever since he got into that bloody cell – Dumbledore began, again, to speak.

"You will find, Harry, that your magic is much stronger than you are used to, once your magical reserves are at their peak," the old man started. Pausing, he continued, his blurred form seeming to haltingly glance at something nearby.

Remus, perhaps – Dumbledore probably thought Harry wouldn't have told him. Harry felt the strong urge to sneer grip him as he wondered how his erstwhile _mentor_ would've taken the news before the – the kidnapping –

"The glamour was just beginning to break down, under the – the _duress_ you endured, and that was why you were able to call the Sword of Gryffindor to you. Furthermore – "

"_Duress?"_ Harry hissed slowly. His fear was abruptly replaced by anger as the white blur of Dumbledore seemed to shift uncomfortably. Tension laced the air in the – wherever the _fuck_ he was – as Harry surged stubbornly to a sitting position. "Duress my bloody arse! They had me for _days_ – boiling my _blood_ on the hour – and you – you call it – "

"Sit _down_, Potter!" The Snape-blur snapped at him, a hand gripping his shoulder hard. Harry jerked violently away, gulping damp air into his tortured lungs.

"You keep your hands to _yourself_ – you think I've nothing to say to _you_? You just _wait_." Harry turned slowly, breathing hard, towards the Dumbledore-blur. "You _left_ me there – with Veron – and – and _Malfoy_ – and _Voldemort_ – "

"And for that I am deeply _sorry_, Harry – there was nothing else I could – "

The old _bastard_ just thought he'd come back and offer some trite words of sympathy and everything would be magically mended, did he? He'd _show_ him.

"_Bollocks._" Harry coughed out, ignoring how much it hurt to glare at the Dumbledore's now rather shocked-looking blur. "There _never_ seems to be _anything_ you can do – why the _fuck_ are you still around? Meddling in people's lives – "

"Harry, you cannot believe that I _did not try_ – "

"_Try?"_ Harry rasped out, his hands curling into weak fists. "Well, I suppose that's what you did – what you _always_ do. _Try_. I'll thank you to warn me when you feel like _trying_ next time…so I can tell you to _stuff_ your _trying_." Dumbledore went very still for the next few moments, as Harry's harsh breathing filled the stunned silence in the – place. "Just tell me what's going on, and _leave_."

"Harry – "

"You heard me. Say your piece and _leave_, for fuck's sake. Just _do it!"_

Silence reigned once more, and then the white blur – which looked a little more stooped than before – straightened and began to speak.

"Your magic should be back to its best in a week, and we will then decide whether or not to send you back to Hogwarts…" Harry let his tired upper half sink down to the pallet, anger still chasing within his blood. "Your will shall be read in one or two days, and most of your inheritance will fall, by default, to me." Dumbledore's strong, bland tone wavered for a moment, but he carried on. "Severus will probably be called to present a report on how the Order is taking the news by then. If possible, he will contact the Dursleys, and see if they will consent to have you until it is safe to return to Hog – "

"_No_."

"Harry, it would be the best – "

"No bloody _way_." Harry shifted his dully aching head on the pillow determinedly, angling for the white blur. "You can drag me there, but you won't make me _stay_, understand? I'll – I'll run away if I have to – " Snape snorted loudly, almost angrily.

"Potter, your stupidity continues to astound me," he began, but Harry rapidly cut him off.

"Keep your greasy little insult of an opinion to _yourself_, _father_ – "

"What the hell has gotten _into_ you, Harry? Don't talk to him – don't _talk_ to them like that – " Remus' strained tone began. Harry smiled cruelly, painfully.

"What's _gotten into me_, you say? Merlin, what an _opportunity_ – "

"_Potter_ – "

"Romulus Veron," Harry said easily, hatred thickly infusing his raspy voice, "Lucius Malfoy." Heavy silence seemed to drag down on his companions at that. Harry sneered bitterly as he continued. "Oh, come _on_, you _all_ know I was raped, don't you? Good old _Severus the Spy_ must've told you by now – he actually saw it done once upon a fucking time – "

"_Harry_," Dumbledore began firmly. Harry laughed, hysterically.

"Did he not tell you? What a sight that must've been – what a fucking _sight_ – "

"Harry, _please_ – " Remus' tone was practically begging, but Harry found that he really couldn't care less.

"Oh shut _up!_ You don't want to hear about the rest?" Harry laughed again at the choking noise _someone_ made at that. "Oh – oh _yes_, you heard me – _the rest_. You know, I can't even _remember_ who else had a go – a bit hard to remember, that was. You can hardly _blame_ me for forgetting who was _fucking_ me _that_ time, seeing as I _passed out_ – "

"You speak as if these things were not just as horrifying to feel as to _see_, Potter, and for that I cannot forgive you," Snape cut in. Harry could practically hear the man's fists clenching and unclenching as he continued. "There is nothing as damning for any father as to watch their own flesh and blood being used in that manner – being _powerless_ to stop it. As always, you have _no_ _consideration_ for _others_ – "

"Would you rather have traded places, then?" Harry asked quietly. He felt wrung out by his fit of temper, weak, stretched –

Snape, of course, did not answer. Harry smiled again. Nastily.

"Then, _as I said_, keep your opinions to _yourself_." Dumbledore's blur shifted – or so Harry thought – he could just see the white _blob_ of a bastard move out of the corner of his eye –

"Harry, do not take your displeasure with me out on your father – he has suffered worse than this – "

"Bloody bollocks, that," Harry calmly interjected. "Was he orphaned by Voldemort? No. Was it his fault that Voldemort rose again? _No_. Does he have to _kill_ the serpentine bastard?" _NO!"_ Harry was past caring about the pain in his throat, past caring about whether Dumbledore would be angry, past caring about _anything_. "Kindly keep your thoughts on the differences between my – my _plight_ – and _his_ – to yourself." Looking round at the black blur, he found it oddly still. Something occurred to him. "He didn't tell you the prophecy, did he? Sounds like a load of pure _shite_ so far, doesn't it?" Harry let his head fall back to the pallet, bitterness emanating from his thin frame. "I had to destroy half his fucking _office_ to get him to tell me. You might have to actually torture him to get him to tell _you_, though. Good bloody luck with that."

Harry closed his eyes, ignoring the murmuring around him. Let Dumbledore deal with _that_.

* * *

Severus Snape sighed, watching the look of consternation on his weary master's face. He'd known his – that the _boy_ would be angry, but… 

He squared his shoulders resignedly, rising from the seat on Harry's left to work on the blocking potion he needed to finish before he returned to Hogwarts today. Spying Lupin's dazed features, he rather guiltily focused on the now-bubbling cauldron.

It had been much, _much_ worse than he'd expected.

He'd known the boy would lash out at Dumbledore – probably have been worried if he _hadn't_, actually. But he'd not expected the pure – _contempt_, there was no other word – that had radiated from the shrivelled, heavily injured body before him.

It had started well, with a nagging realisation, when the Potter boy weakly opened his eyes, that that singular feature of his was different; _darker_. Severus added the final ingredient to the rumbling liquid before him, stirring carefully. He'd kept up a rant about the restricted Reviver he'd made, his black eyes more interested in the form of Harry's dirty, rather bigger nose than in what the frustrated, high-strung fool of a werewolf had been shouting back at him.

_I suppose we all thought it would be easy_, Severus grudgingly admitted to himself, eyeing the boy, who, though evidently still awake, was deathly still on his dirty pallet, head resolutely turned from Albus Dumbledore's guilty, weary form. Guilt pierced the spy again as he turned back to the cauldron. He'd – well, he'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't looked _forward_ to this confrontation. As loyal as Snape was, Dumbledore's erratic behaviour over the matter _had_ been extremely galling to witness. He'd resentfully kept back the biting comments he'd longed to make during this scene in the hopes that Harry would make them _for_ him.

And had gotten rather _more_ than he'd bargained for, too. The boy had lashed out at _all_ of them, not even bothering to listen to – Severus cringed – his father's attempt to curtail his vicious words.

_The worst part_, Severus thought, darkly, _was when that – that imbecile of a Remus bloody Lupin had to go and say _that_ –_

Severus cringed anew, more at the stark memory of Harry's almost _joking_ manner – of describing –

The potion's surface began to whirl with a grey-green mist, almost scalding the distracted man as he hastily removed the silver stirring-rod from the cauldron.

_Thank_ Merlin_ – don't think I can remain here any longer_ –

The potion was finished, and he told the still-silent Dumbledore so. Quietly, with a bit of a sneer – for all Harry had said, Severus knew he wanted very badly to add a little more.

A very little, but _really_ – it was his right as a concerned _father_ –

"I suppose that was my fault," Remus Lupin's hoarse, pathetic tone came from behind the spy. Severus whirled on him – he _really_ didn't _get it_, did he –

"Potter meant his little speech for _me_ and _Albus_, not _you_," Severus began, irritably. "Really – he didn't even _mention_ you – " The thought warmed Severus Snape's heart for a few moments, but was quashed by its succeeding thought.

"_You keep your hands to _yourself_ – you think I've nothing to say to _you_? You just _wait_…"_

The memory stung him, strengthening the guilt he felt. Guilt that turned to dread very rapidly – if _that_ was how Harry 'talked' to Dumbledore, whom Severus _knew_ was practically revered by the foolish boy, then _how_ would he –

"I suppose I deserved that." Albus finally spoke, mumbling the words absently.

"Headmaster – it wasn't – Harry didn't mean – " Lupin began, moving past Severus to try to comfort the old man.

"I think you'll _find_ that the blasted boy meant every word, Lupin," Severus said lowly, turning back to the potion. He continued to spell it into empty vials from nearby, disregarding the prickling feeling that told him Albus' canny blue eyes were on him.

"He won't be as hard on you, Severus," the warm voice said from behind. Severus ignored it – what did _he_ know, thinking Severus was worrying about such an inconsequential thing?

_Old goat_, Severus told himself fiercely, his anger rising up again. _We'll have our _own_ talk, never you _mind_…_

"He respects you more than you think," the Headmaster was saying now, his voice growing stronger with every word. Snape turned on him, black eyes glittering with anger and malice.

"You assume _far_ too much, Headmaster – when did _I_ say I was worried?" Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly. "Whether Potter decides to bludgeon me to death with his heavy-handed insults is of no _consequence_. Far more _important_," Severus continued, leaning in slightly, "is what _I_ decide to do to _you_." Noting with no small satisfaction the fresh worry on his master's face, Severus Snape turned back to the cauldron, spelling it clean with but a thought. He let the tense silence stand for a few moments, then began on an entirely new strain. "Lupin, you'd best approach and try to familiarise yourself with the contents of these vials. I won't be able to return for at least two days, and the Headmaster will not always be available to sit beside the brat – "

"Why do you keep calling him that?" Lupin returned aggressively, even as he ascended creakily from his chair beside Dumbledore. "And where are you going?"

"He will be contacting the Dursleys, Remus," Dumbledore began.

"But – what about – "

"Not for that, Remus," Dumbledore offered, glancing briefly at Severus, who felt a small swell of triumph. He'd _told_ the stubborn Headmaster – he'd _warned_ him about _saying_ that – _doing_ it and dumping the boy there was _completely_ another matter, but _saying it_… "Severus will be arranging for their – ah – disappearance. Strictly for their safety, really – " Severus looked up from his careful sealing of the last few vials, the essential process reminding of something important.

"And, Headmaster – the snake – "

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore's shoulders seemed to sink even further. "The snake. Obviously we cannot dispose of it for now – "

_Meaning that _you're_ too craven to do so, and are thinking to ask _me_ to do it…_ Severus kept his face purposefully blank as Dumbledore's tired eyes landed on him. At the old man's insistent look, he burst out. "Merlin, Headmaster, do you really _desire_ to be rid of me? There are _far_ less painful methods of that, I assure you – "

"It's _that_ dangerous?" Lupin looked harried. A good look on him, as far as Severus was concerned, but the snake really _was_ lethal. They'd had to Stun it to keep it away from the boy, to boot. He shuddered slightly. Who knew how it had – for lack of a better explanation – _attached_ itself to the boy's presence?

"Yes, Remus. Just Stun it again – " Lupin's look of fear increased, " – or, all else failing, wake Harry." Dumbledore straightened in his chair, rearranging his robes as if to rise. "I do not know how it came to be with him – it was wound about his leg when I Portkeyed him here, and I spared it no thought or attention until we had to bathe him – the Muggle way, Remus," he added, at Lupin's puzzled look, "as anything else would have complicated his situation..." Dumbledore turned his attention back to the other man. "Severus?" Snape nodded stiffly, rechecking the table. Lupin drew close by for the explanation, and Severus began grudgingly.

"If," he said, after an exhaustive explanation of the dangers and properties of the five smoking bottles on the table, "you cannot remember what one of the potions does, owl Albus immediately. And do _not_ administer it, unless you wish to see him die _again_. That is all, Lupin."

And, with that, while steadfastly ignoring the looks Lupin and Dumbledore exchanged, Severus finally obeyed the impulse to draw close to Harry once more. Glaring at them when their eyes fell on him, he abandoned all pretence, and sat on the chair nearest to the pallet, silently looking over the boy's painfully thin frame – not daring to touch him, of course; the brat could still be awake. Feeling awkward with all the alien emotion surging into his breast, Severus rose rapidly, his cold glance landing on Lupin. "He'd better be _alive_ when I get back, Lupin."

Thankfully, the werewolf restrained whatever foolish drivel he'd been about to inflict on Snape, and simply nodded.

Severus nodded menacingly back, and somewhat less menacingly at Dumbledore, whose – _Merlin_, the man was irrepressible, doing that disgusting twinkling _again_ – "Headmaster." Severus swept out of the room as quickly as he could, feeling ill at ease with the compassion in Albus' eyes.

He straightened purposefully as he entered the hidden staircase and emerged in the room next to the decrepit front hall, shaking off the alien feelings of fear and loss, replacing them with the anger he was so familiar with.

After all, he'd just come into some rather interesting information during that painful session. He clearly recalled Harry saying something about _the rest_ –

A mirthless, frightening smirk made its way onto the hooded face of Severus Snape as he withdrew to a convenient cluster of trees and touched his wand to his Mark. It would be simply _tragic_, losing some of the vaunted Inner Circle in battle.

Slightly less tragic, perhaps, than it _always_ was.

* * *

"He is truly dead." 

The question was more of a statement than anything else, but Severus Snape knew he had no reason to quibble. No desire to, certainly, even with the weakened, drawn monster before him. Inwardly exultant for entirely the wrong reason, Severus straightened before the Dark Lord.

"Yes, my lord." He allowed a triumphant sneer to cross his features. Severus' black eyes darted round the small, richly furnished room – this was, thankfully, the most comfortable of Dark Lord's various lairs. It appeared that the rabid bastard also desired creature comforts of a sort, as affirmed by the discreet, virulently upper-class air of the room around him. It was papered in a deep, muted green, and the detailed brown panelling on the walls, on closer inspection, were really minute, moving illustrations of terrible magical slaughters. The room was relatively low-ceilinged, and the low-backed, steel-and-silver divan before him was the largest piece of furniture in the room.

Seeing those red eyes harden and narrow, Severus smoothly added some praise – it never went amiss – his dark eyes searching nervously for Nagini, who was – _mercifully_ – absent. "A very effective spell, my Lord…" Severus held his breath, hoping he would not be tortured – he was understandably weary from his brewing in the Manor.

"It was that, Severus," Voldemort replied lazily, stretching his serpentine frame on the makeshift throne he half-sat, half-reclined upon. The edgy spy relaxed somewhat – good, this would be easier than he'd thought – "The Book has proved useful indeed…"

"The Book, my Lord…?" Alarm bells began to beat frantically in Severus' skull – Dumbledore had mentioned something, something in conjunction with the Romanian and Bulgarian refugees, something about _Grindelwald_ –

"The Book of Zorn, Severus…" The Dark Lord smiled sinuously. "Wormtail finally finished translating the entire text…It will lead us to victory, Severus, and contains the most powerful spells we can and _shall_ use, when the time is right, to _properly_ apprise the Wizarding World of my renewed strength." Voldemort straightened slightly on his throne, his smile turning even more vicious. "But, for now – it is good you have come."

_This cannot be good_, Severus thought desperately. If _only_ he could remember – the weariness of the past few hours of fervent, non-stop action dulled his wits alarmingly. _Think, Severus, _think_…_

Someone abruptly entered the close, rich room behind him, startling Severus considerably as they dropped heavily to their knees behind him.

"My Lord…"

It was Lucius Malfoy. Fierce delight surged through Severus' thin frame – he'd never _crawled_ before, had he? The _bastard_ – hopefully the Dark Lord would –

"_Splendid_ timing, Lucius."

No – that wasn't right – Severus' mind raced. The shrivelled man before him sounded almost – _happy_ – that could only mean Lucius had been here before –

"M-my Lord," stuttered Lucius. "Wormtail – he said you called – " The blonde head beside him was dirty and dishevelled – a possible sign of the Dark Lord's anger –

"And I did. _Look at me, _Lucius – " Severus did not dare to raise his eyes. Commands were always _specific_ – he didn't want to show folly, not _now_, when his Lord might decide to show him what was in the mysterious, obviously deadly Book – "I have no wish to continue your – _punishment_, Lucius. _Finite_." The shaking in Lucius' limbs ceased immediately, but he made no move to try and compose himself.

Severus' eyes widened. He'd never heard of a Dark curse – one painful enough to make a Death Eater shake uncontrollably – that would last indefinitely without drawing heavily on the caster's power, _especially_ when the victim was not in the caster's presence…His thoughts raced – Lucius, considering whatever had befallen him in Stone Hollow, as well as his haggard, drawn appearance _now_, would _had_ to have returned to his Master by about the time Severus had returned to Snape Manor –

Four days. _Four days! FOUR DAYS!_

_It is _completely_ unprecedented – _completely_ unheard-of – that Book_ –

Voldemort's drawl cut abruptly into Severus' racing, panicked thoughts, stilling them momentarily.

"You will perform this task for me, along with Severus – redeem yourself…_somewhat_…" The red eyes landed on Severus' head, he could _feel_ their malevolence – "There is a disgustingly small Muggle house not far from here, Severus, which has…thwarted my _efforts_…for some time. You will take Lucius – " Severus could practically feel the man's grimace – Lucius Malfoy had _never_ been second to him before – "and five others to destroy it and everyone in it, _now_."

Severus Snape finally dared to look up, dread settling heavily in his limbs.

It had to be –

"Where is this house, my Lord?" The Dark Lord showed his even, white teeth in what was more of a ghastly grin than a smile.

"You know it well, Severus – Potter's house on _Privet Drive_." He laughed slightly, the sound piercing in its evil intent. "Go now, Severus…you'll find no resistance in those _wards_ our mutual fool of a Headmaster so faithfully erected. Leave none that see you alive…The rest of the area may stand, it is no matter – when I have regained my strength, _I_ will obliterate that foul street with my own wand…"

The Dark Lord subsided into a low chuckling, his crazed eyes evidently very far away from the two frightened men before him.

Severus Snape rose from his knees, an iron ring of fear tightening around his heart.

_What to do, what to _do_…_

Lucius remained silent behind him as they strode from the room, except for a sneering suggestion that they take someone else apart from the snivelling new recruits that ringed them now –

"No need, Lucius," Severus smoothly, almost boredly replied. "Dumbledore ordered the guards to more…_important_ concerns…Potter's Muggle relatives are, effectively, _completely_ alone. They'll be no trouble, I _assure_ you…" He smirked at Malfoy's pale face, mottled red-and-white with embarrassment and anger at the implied slight on his strength.

Let him grind his teeth – the bastard had _evidently_ lost his coveted place at the Dark Lord's side, leaving him open to whatever Severus felt like saying. Dark amusement surged in Severus' chest, mingling with anger to dampen the sharp, throbbing concern he'd felt ever since the Dark Lord had uttered his order…_don't worry, Lucius – the only man you'll have to fear in that stinking Muggle pit is – why – only the man with whom you are speaking…_

Severus shook himself slightly, nodding to his cloaked companions as they reached the spot outside the strong Anti-Disapparation Barrier that coated their weakened Lord's new quarters.

There was nothing to be done, Severus knew, as he Disapparated along with the rest. Nothing to be done now, except hope and pray that the wards were, indeed, down.

Appearing in the shadowy evening of the bland street, Severus examined the thought of sabotage and heavily discarded it. If he failed –

Great _Merlin_, the wards _were_ down…

Severus stilled in shock. He'd thought Dumbledore would have left them – there was really nothing for it now. He sneered behind his mask, forcing his stance to become one of bored contempt, one similar to those of his erstwhile companions as they followed him up the quiet street, which was thankfully devoid of Muggles. They stopped silently at Number Four, awaiting word from their leader, some apprehensively, and some – as in the case of Lucius Malfoy – impatiently.

Severus swallowed down his bitterness at, again, not being able to change a thing.

"Shall we, Lucius?" The man nodded eagerly, some of his dirty blonde locks escaping his hood as he and the other Death Eaters surged towards the plain wooden door. Severus nodded, signalling for the nearest Death Eater to knock at the door of their imminent victims.

It was galling to realise he might have actually _enjoyed_ terrorizing Harry's hideous relatives a little over a week ago, albeit under different circumstances. It was just so –

A loud rumbling could be heard from within the bland, disgusting little house, causing one of the Death Eaters to laugh derisively.

"Muggle scum…" Severus tightened his grip on his wand, knowing all too well that his hope that the fools were _not_ at home was entirely and completely groundless.

The door opened rapidly, revealing the purple face of Vernon Dursley, which paled rapidly at the sight of the hooded wizards on his front porch. He shut the door hard, immediately, causing the novice Death Eaters to balk in some astonishment.

Severus struggled not to let his shoulders droop. The one time the fool of a Muggle picked to display some vestiges of _sense_ –

"No matter – the house will burn down, either way…" Lucius Malfoy stepped backward eagerly, shattering the sleepy quiet of the dull neighbourhood. "_Incendio! Conflagratus!"_

Severus raised his wand and hollowly followed suit, feeling overwhelmingly angry with everything around him, and, most of all, himself. The Death Eaters sealed the house easily against the frantic, screaming Muggles within, methodically circling the small structure.

Severus gritted his teeth, hearing the amused laughter of Lucius Malfoy. There was nothing he could do.

_Nothing I can do_.

And, as the six Death Eaters turned their blank masks toward the frightened shouts emanating from the houses nearby, he clamped down on his emotion, slaughtering eyewitnesses dispassionately. Only one distinct thought remained.

_Another door closed._

And, as usual, he was right. What would happen now, to his – to his _son_, was anyone's guess, now that the safest place Harry Potter could possibly be, lay smouldering at the end of the battered street of Privet Drive.

* * *

_A/N:_

_Bloody HELL did this chapter give me a run for my money. Savour it, guys – there likely won't be another one for a few days. _

_Hope I did my job properly, too – please review and tell me what you think about the scene with Voldemort. I hope I didn't overdo it or _underdo_ it – do you think Severus is frightened enough? And, also, do you think Harry was too angry? Do tell…_

_As for the mysterious Book of Zorn, you'll be hearing more about that in the next few chapters. Bits and pieces, of course, as is only appropriate winks. Stay tuned for Chapter 5: A Snape Discovered._

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	5. Chapter 5: A Snape Discovered

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_A/N: Another chapter, another day, another usual disclaimer. _

_Thanks, as usual, to everyone who reviewed – and if someone could tell me if review responses are allowed as part of author notes at the end and beginning, I would really appreciate it, as I seem to come across tons of fics that _do_ this, and yet harbour the feeling that it's banned by the good old folks here at I've reread the guidelines, but it makes it no clearer – please contact me if you've actually _had_ an experience over the matter, so I'll know what to do…_

_Now, enjoy yourself with this one, folks…sorry I haven't been able to update till now…_

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**Chapter 5: A Snape Discovered**

Albus Dumbledore was really not having a good day.

He popped into sight, conveniently hidden by the bent, creaking limbs of the small copse of trees not too far from Snape Manor. Birds and other frightened creatures raised an angry tumult around him as he broke his way through the close trees, careful to Disillusion himself before starting. He'd _never_ been able to find that so-called path Severus consistently insisted was here somewhere –

The Headmaster of Hogwarts sighed at the thought of the harried, frantic spy. He'd appeared in Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts about five nights ago, greatly disturbed in mind and body. Albus had barely been able to extract a coherent answer from the man, that time.

_Like so many other times_…

Albus shook his head carefully as he finally broke through the thinning trees, then stopped short – silently, he'd made sure of _that_ – in disgust. He was on the _other_ side of the copse, in the _opposite_ direction from the imposing, crumbling cluster of buildings. Sighing in renewed frustration, he began to edge quietly round the trees, keeping an eye out for anyone and anything.

_Fine start to the evening_, _indeed_ –

Albus sighed again. Tonight would be difficult – moreso than the three nights of the past week in which he'd taken the same responsibility and the same trip, at this very hour.

And _that_ was saying something. Albus shook his head wearily, almost forgetting he was alone. He could almost _hear_ that impatient, cracking voice sneering back at Remus the very first night he'd come, bearing the ghastly news of the Dursleys' demise.

_"Well," Harry said icily, "_that_ settles it, then." Remus turned wearily towards the blank aspect of the teenager. _

_"Settles _what_?" Albus' shoulders sank. One thing _never_ to ask Harry now was _why_, or _what_ –_

"_It means I'm not _there_, doesn't it?" Albus had shut his eyes momentarily. Such uncaring statements – from the boy who was supposed to _save_ them all_…

Albus' old features tightened. That boy, as he and Remus had begun to realise, had barely been able to save _himself_ –

The old man grimaced, feeling the razor-sharp wards pass over him as he crossed the boundary. _Another new wound – another failure – same person, as usual, same_ –

_Enough!_

Albus slipped stealthily through the back gate of the Manor, navigating the wild gardens easily from practice. He stopped on the threshold of the garden door, to catch his breath.

To ready himself, in truth. To meet the – the _saviour_ he'd created, with his mistakes and folly and hidden secrets and mistaken pride…

That _saviour_ was still a stone beneath his normal weight. He still looked awful, with mottled skin and badly healing cuts and bruises everywhere on his pale, skinny, painfully lengthening form. All of the above, actually, had some sort of root in the dratted and forever blasted Enchantment Strengthener necessity had forced upon Harry at Hogwarts, a fact he continued to raise and refer to again and again to the weary werewolf and harassed Headmaster tending him.

Albus sighed, entering the Manor house. Harry's death had thrown the wizarding world into a furore – effectively halting all goings on at Hogwarts for more than two weeks. The Ministry of Magic was regaining strength under the paranoia of Minister Orwell, and clamping down on the rest of the prisoners in Azkaban and cinching tight the security around the comings and goings of the Ministry of Magic building so that it approached impossibility to penetrate it without significant cost. Phillip Orwell and his old, crafty father had scheduled yet _another_ meeting with the Headmaster of Hogwarts for later in the day, to discuss implementing higher security for the children of magical Britain. It was cutting it fine to be here now – he looked quickly at his pocket watch – but he'd wanted to be there when Severus returned from making the urgent trip to Romania. Albus winced a little – another _mistake_, he reminded himself. The frantic Headmaster had not foreseen the attack on the home of the Dursleys, had thought, effectively, that they would have been _safe_ for a little while…

Albus winced again. The wards had _had_ to be taken down – had been essential to remove the guard – no one could be _spared_, with all the other attacks occurring. No one could be _trusted_ –

Albus Dumbledore squared his shoulders, purging his frantic mind from all thought about Harry's current situation. He would _not_, _could_ not think about this _now_, not when he had to make this – this _decision_.

His palms perspired at the very thought of the stark plan ahead of the painfully thin boy somewhere below as he navigated the mazelike corridors of the dusty house. It was so unprecedented, so ambitious – but then, it _had_ to be; it was, literally, do – or die.

So many things were, now.

Dumbledore frowned as he uttered the complex charm to reveal the hidden staircase that led to the dungeons below. Even now, even as events were straining out of his control, he still had this decision, this awful, life-changing _decision_, hanging over him.

Severus, as tired as he'd been on the Thursday afternoon before he'd left for Romania, had stared at him when he'd voiced his doubts. For him, there clearly _was_ no decision. Albus sighed. In this matter, for this – _decision_ – Severus was near useless. He was rapidly becoming incapable of objectivity in all things concerning – concerning Harry. Oh, he would _help_, but, as always, it was left to Albus to make the final decision.

In a way, it was simple. Or, at least, one major part of it was: to decide whether Harry _would_ be safer in Hogwarts was easy – _yes_.

_But_, Albus told himself, hearing the beginnings of a faint argument as he walked slowly towards Harry's dungeon, _to think – to decide – if _Hogwarts_ would be safe with _Harry_ in it_ –

The prospect of finding half of Hogwarts razed to the ground had seemed even less implausible when Albus had sparked the embers of Harry's rage the second time that week. It had been on his second visit to the stifling room before him now, and he had been trying to draw the sullen boy out of the hard, brittle exterior that belied his weak, near-skeletal state.

Albus cringed, now, at the galling memory. He'd said _something_ – something about Harry seeing his friends again, or telling them about what had happened, and suddenly Harry's voice had begun to rise higher and higher in argument. At the very end, he'd gone from a near scream to a low, dangerous tone, the _waves_ of rage flowing off him, making the room seem like a _furnace_. It had been Harry who had told Albus to leave, that first, shocking Sunday. The second time, it had been _Remus_ who had pleaded with him – face drawn – to _let him deal with it_.

And Albus had left, heart bleeding within him. How things had come to this pass – how the boy he'd watched over with unceasing affection had come to only tolerate his presence – was no mystery. Oh, Albus _knew_ – he knew every detail – his mind could calculate and surmise those he did not, in any case – but it did not lessen or mitigate the sting, did not shield his heart from the suffocating self-loathing that had surged anew in his breast at the horrible look he'd seen in the eyes of their _saviour_.

He knew, too, that it would fall to _him_ to – to do something, if their hero decided there were better ways to live, that there was a brotherhood more – more _solicitous_ of his need for something that had helped shape the current plague on the wizarding world.

Albus forcibly shook off the feeling of mingled helplessness and apprehension. The door opened at another password, and –

" – if you _think_ I'm going to _drink_ that, you must be bloody out of your fucking _mind_, Remus – "

Albus tried not to flinch at that harsh, scraping voice. So different from the voice from a month before –

"You _know_ you _need_ the Strengthening Solution, Harry – "

"_No – I – _DON'T!"

"_Harry_," Remus was saying, back to Albus as he silently closed the door with a wave of his wand. "_Severus said_ – "

"I _know_ what _Severus SAID_, _Remus_ – I was _awake_ – " Harry was spitting out. He paused as his green eyes, full of determination and – something that had become an almost permanent fixture on his sharper, more angular features – contempt. Remus turned at that point, sighing in relief as Albus walked calmly over to the table of dwindling potions Severus had hurriedly left behind before his departure almost four days ago…

That was another thing he'd learned.

_Show no fear. Show no heightened _emotion –

"Thank _Merlin_ you're here, Albus – "

"Maybe you'll tell him my _system_ can't _take_ any more bloody Solution – maybe he'll actually _listen_ to you – "

"He's refused two doses already, Albus," Remus interspersed hastily, waving the two requisite vials as he crossed over to the table. Harry slumped against the headboard behind him, rolling his eyes.

"I've _read_ about Strengthening Solution, Remus – plus you've forgotten how much has been in my system _already_, Severus gave me some – "

"_Professor _Snape gave you some!" Remus snapped back spinning to face the hard-eyed teen.

"Gentlemen, _please_ – " Albus shrugged off his outer robe, reinforcing the Heating Charm that Remus had probably – _understandably_ – neglected in his dealings with the stubborn Boy-Who-Lived.

_Who has _certainly_ earned his name_ –

Albus pushed down the impulse to shake his head, to get rid of the taunting voice that, with every word, with every cadence, seemed to remind him of each and every one of his failures. Harry, sad to say, was probably correct in this instance – his skin had a sallow, greenish tinge to it that spoke of a slight overuse of Strengthening Solution, as well as one or more other ingredients that occurred in the Solution _and_ in the various other potions the boy so desperately needed.

"_I think_," Harry was saying, through gritted teeth, "that I've _earned_ the right to call _him_ by _any bloody name I want!"_

"_You owe him RESPECT _– "

Clearly the situation, as always, was about to get out of hand.

"Harry – Remus – calm _down_," Dumbledore ordered, raising a hand in careful signal. "Remus, Harry is right – "

"_Finally_ – " Albus gave the triumphant boy a firm look, feeling thankful that Harry would pay _heed_ to it, still.

" – but that was _no_ reason to shout at him, as you did, Harry," Albus finished carefully. He maintained his calm façade as he watched Harry's eyes gain a vicious sheen, _hoping_ –

"How the _hell_ could I help it – he was driving me round the bend, for Merlin's sake – " Harry changed his tone to an appallingly close imitation of Remus' usual voice and calm tone – " 'Harry, don't you think you should take that Solution now'; 'Harry – you'd better take it'; 'Harry, _Severus said_'; 'Harry, you'd better take it or you'll _die_, even though you've gone the last twelve bleeding hours without it and you still _appear_ to be breathing' – "

"_Harry!"_ Albus made his voice as cold as he could bear, his heart sinking as Harry's eyes merely focused on the drained werewolf at the table beside him.

At least he'd _stopped_.

"_That_," Albus got out, with some effort, watching Remus' hands clench around the vials he was mixing two potions into, "was _completely_ out of order." Blue eyes hardened, focusing on the uncooperative green ahead. "Apologise. _Now_."

The silence weighed heavy on the three men, as green eyes simply narrowed in response. Albus' heart beat fast – _please, Harry – just _do it_ –_

"I take it I'm not intruding…?"

The snide tone of Severus Snape had _never_ sounded so melodious to Albus as it did now. Remus fairly _jumped_, head shooting round to peer at the limping, rather ragged spy, defiant as always.

Lip curling, black eyes narrowed in thought. _So he heard_ –

"_No_," was Remus' slightly strangled answer, as he jerkily set down the mixed vial, closing the bottles with an almost clumsy rapidity. "The – the Headmaster and I were just discussing my departure – "

_Merlin, Harry – say _something –

"Giving up so _soon_?"

– _but not _that. _Anything, _anything_ would have been better_ –

Remus' muscles clenched, and the tension in the room suddenly mended itself.

All Albus could think of was seeing Remus' desperate face light up when he stepped into the same room a week earlier, and –

A sigh punctuated the tension. From Harry, whose eyes were now directed at his hands in his lap.

"I shouldn't have said that, should I?" His voice was softer, more weary. Dumbledore searched his drawn face, heart clenching just a little – a little more –at the strained, _desperate_ look on Harry's face as he continued. "I'm – I'm sorry. I think."

It was telling that none of the wizards within the dungeon expressed surprise over the boy's nonchalant-seeming action.

Remus gulped, hard, beside Albus. He could see the emotions playing across the werewolf's high-strung body, _feel_ them emanating from him, as he slowly made his answer.

"I – I _was_ going to leave, anyway, Harry – no need to – to feel…" Remus' strained voice drifted off for a minute or two. He breathed in and out, ignoring the low snort that sounded suspiciously like Severus behind them, then continued. "I need to show my face – make sure no one's worried about me – see Tonks…" Remus looked at the suddenly tired old man beside him. This was all so – "Headmaster…I'll return on Monday evening, as – as promised…Should I tell…?"

"Not yet, Remus…" Albus gave the spy behind him – rolling his eyes, he'd expected that – a hard look. Now was not the time to discuss the hasty plan they'd cooked up – he had to try, first, with Harry, to see if he'd talk about his – _experience_ – "No one. We cannot risk it, for now." He could feel black eyes on him as he watched a shaken Remus Lupin wearily depart, Disillusioning himself at the door.

And it was entirely true.

They honestly could not risk inflicting this raw, bitter, unhealed Harry on the panicked wizarding world…or, as Albus increasingly thought, on Hogwarts.

_So_, Albus reminded himself, as Severus moved purposefully for the near-empty table of potions, _we will inflict someone else, by Merlin's beard_.

_Tobias Snape_.

* * *

Severus Snape sat down at his – Harry Potter's bedside with a thump. He felt worn out in the extreme – entirely unable to _deal_ with any further comments from the glaring boy. It had been a tumultuous week in every regard, and Severus had barely had time to close his eyes every night.

First, of course, there had been the terrifying journey back to the Headmaster after destroying the last real refuge of his – Potter. The Headmaster had appeared to have taken the news more calmly than was possible – he had simply sought out the spy's tired eyes with his own, and asked him to get himself washed and dressed, and to catch a few hours of rest.

That was one of the small acts that had begun to inure Dumbledore back into his seething Potions Master's good graces, for, as Severus had discovered, he had needed that rest. _Badly_. He woke early on Monday, as was usual, only to discover Dumbledore within his chambers, sipping tea. They had had a rapid, near-silent, wary breakfast, and taken an hour afterwards to discuss the issue that had been weighing on their minds.

It was relatively simple, and – like many simple problems – astoundingly complex. Severus could not stop himself from giving the ungrateful boy a sneer before commencing with a much-needed check-up – _no telling what foolery the werewolf wrought on him_ – by asking him a series of questions.

"Now, Potter, before I can safely dose you with anything more, I will need some important, simple information. _Try_ to answer quickly and simply – I am _extremely_ tired, and therefore in _no_ state to bandy insults about with a skeletal teenager this evening. Is that _clear_?"

Har – Potter – scowled, but made no real objection. Severus hid his relief – if that had not worked, he would have had _no_ idea _whatsoever_ as to how to go about this very much needed check-up. Severus retrieved a bent quill and a scrap of parchment from within his robes – charmed parchment that would remember all the information that was needed – and, true to his word, asked away.

"Now, if you would oblige me by raising your right hand…?"

And the check-up began, as the boy raised his hand – painstakingly, undoubtedly some residual pain, probably from his changing body – "…right, your left hand…? Are you in _pain_, Potter? If so, you _should_ have informed Lupin – I left behind a rather powerful pain-killing draught, as you well know." Severus fixed the boy with his black eyes, watching the ever more familiar features curl into what resembled a sneer that could, with time, expertly mirror his own. "I hope," he added scathingly, ignoring the warning look – no, the warning _feeling_ flowing off the Headmaster, "I hope that you did not succumb to any foolish Gryffindor tendencies in this matter, as – "

"Look, I'm _acquainted_ with pain, _Severus _– " The man hardly kept from wincing at the utter scorn the boy now, it seemed, continuously added to the name – surely – " – this is hardly as bad as it can get, and I'm willing to put up with it as long as the change goes faster." Severus paused in surprise, wondering where and _when_ the boy had picked up so many – "The draught _would_ have slowed the change, right?" The look of challenge in Harry – _Potter_'s eyes was not fazing in the least. Severus' sneer increased – the boy had a lot to learn of intimidation –

"_Will you teach him, Severus? Freely?"_

Severus shoved the image, the memory, out of sight. He was acutely aware of Harry's abilities as a Legilimens – as foolish as it probably seemed from an outsider's point of view, from what he'd seen of the boy this week, he would certainly stop at _nothing_ to gain an advantage of any sort over him. The only way he could see to ensure a measure of respect from Harry – _Potter_, now, would be to stay as far ahead of him as possible, with regards to knowledge.

Or, at least, Severus was beginning to think so –

"_Well?"_ Potter arrogantly waved a – thinner, much thinner – hand in front of Severus' face. The Potions Master glared at him for a minute, before continuing – he honestly could not _afford_ to forget himself like that –

"You are correct," Severus forced out, watching Harry's reaction out of the corner of his eye. Good, the boy was pleased – at least _something_ pleased him, if it was only annoying his father –

An image of his folly of that first night, clutching at the brat as if he were a drowning man, assaulted him without warning. Severus rose from his seat immediately, to forestall the strong urge he had to _touch_ the boy – to see if he was _real_, insults and rage and all –

"Now – have you been able to rise much, this past week?"

And the check-up continued without much of an interruption from either side, Severus absentmindedly re-spelling vials that were already clean – _bloody filthy werewolf, spoiling this table like that_ – as he ascertained little to cheer his, or even Dumbledore's heart. Harry was still very weak – he could probably walk in a few days, when the lingering effects of the Strengthening Solutions – _that fool of a Lupin, overdosing the boy_ – wore off, and his magic was certainly gaining in normal quantities. What niggled was the boy's seemingly endless fount of anger – simmering constantly beneath the surface, making Severus watch what he said and did with a vigour normally reserved for his – ah – _associates_.

He watched Albus as well – the old fool was certainly overdoing it, as usual, and obviously rather distressed at Harry's condition. Severus snorted to himself as he listened to Albus' latest, halting attempt to ask his – Potter the details of his captivity and escape. The old man was probably still hung up on that so-called 'decision' he'd spoken of when revealing his – _rather imaginative_, Severus grudgingly allowed, again – plans for Harr – _Potter_.

Albus had decided to send the boy back to Hogwarts, only not as himself. It made perfect sense – Potter _had_ changed, irrevocably, and he would be considerably safer and more relaxed if he did not have to worry overmuch about the Dark Lord stalking his every move, as would surely happen. This way, he could finish the education he might need in event of the useless war's cessation, receive more much-needed training, _and_ be firmly under Severus' sharp eye.

The man went over the complex plan in his head again, testing it for flaws. There were few of them – Dumbledore had insisted on creating an iron-cast identity for the boy, and leaving a trail of paperwork that would be unearthed by any overly curious eyes. Potter, Severus thought, rather nastily, to himself, was to be his _nephew_ – mandated and supported by his relatives from Romania. It would be hard work training him, moulding him so he spoke and _behaved_ appropriately, but it would pay off in terms of the boy's security. For the two men had agreed, almost immediately, that the awkward arrangement currently in place could _not_ go on indefinitely, what with all of their pressing engagements and various problems and responsibilities.

Severus now began to alter the remaining Strengthening Solution – it needed to be diluted greatly, as Harry's system was not dealing with the overdose well at all, and he wished to finish _that_ before Albus left, so he could try to pry a few more secrets from the old man, who was obviously continuing in his habit of holding his cards close to his chest concerning the boy, despite the fact that Snape _was_ his father, and would undoubtedly need to know any extra details that the Headmaster was wont to cook up.

The Solution was ready sooner than he'd thought, and all that was left, now, was to fight with his stubborn – _immeasurably foolish_ – son, and try to bully him into taking the Sleeping Draught he'd fished out of his potions case.

"What about my _questions_?" Harry was shouting back at him. "None of you _still_ tell me _anything_ – "

" – and _that_ is because _nothing_ has been _decided yet!"_ Severus snapped back, shoving the slightly smoking vial into the boy's unwilling hands. He cursed himself momentarily as Harry's darker green eyes narrowed – he should really _not_ have –

"So _that's_ what you're doing – sending me to bed like your good little boy so you can discuss where to cram me in the morning?"

"If it helps, _yes_," Severus hissed back, maliciously, disregarding Albus' look of constraint. The boy glared at him, fingers gripping the vial tightly. "And you'll _drink_ that draught, boy – I've been watching _you_, too. You can't fool _me_ the same way you fool that werewolf – you haven't been sleeping well, have you?" He sneered triumphantly at the colour that rose into Harry's cheeks. "_Drink_ – _now_."

"And what if I say no?"

"I'll Stun you," Severus put forth coolly, going to lean against the cleaner, more presentable table. He felt a surge of satisfaction at the look of surprise and consternation on Harry's face as he withdrew his wand – which, after the last week of hectic activity, looked slightly worse for the wear. Harry looked sharply at Dumbledore – praise _Merlin_, the old man's face was serene – Severus felt almost giddy with their success –

"Don't think this is over, _Severus_…" Harry issued forth, eyes shining with repressed anger as he drank the hot vial down, uncaring of how it splashed on his clothes and – Severus winced – his already mottled skin. It made his heart clench to see how the boy shrugged off the pain, falling rather unwillingly into a deep slumber he knew would last for a few hours.

"Merlin alive," Albus said, wearily, from behind him. "I was beginning to think he'd _never_ go to sleep, Severus."

"I am only glad he thought not to think of your involvement, Headmaster," Severus replied, just as wearily, sinking into a chair beside his son's bed. "You have an appointment, Headmaster?" Dumbledore nodded, rising from the seat he'd remained in for most of the conversation. "Then I should tell you the news now…our attempt to gain the support of my relatives has succeeded – rather _too_ well." Severus leant forward, unconsciously reaching out to take a closer look at his son's hair, which he'd not dared to do earlier, or had the patience to even ask – "His hair was not _this_ long when I left, Albus – "

Severus barely noticed the slight relaxation that seemed to come over the old man, who drew just as close to the subject of their conversation.

"It grows abnormally fast – probably part of the changes, and partly a result of the strong doses of Solution we gave him, Severus." Albus took a seat directly opposite the spy, waving away the concerned look the man gave him. "I have some time _yet_ – my appointment is for five o'clock, not four." Seeing the tired nod of the other man – his feet _ached, _for no good reason – Dumbledore continued with the question that had probably been pressing upon him ever since Severus had returned. "Severus…is the plan feasible?"

"Completely so, Headmaster," Severus replied, peering at the grimy hair beneath his fingers. It would almost certainly have to be cut – "As I said before, my relatives took to the concept rather too well. They have agreed to accept falsified memories of the boy, and to pass on as much of the inheritance to him as is needed. They even wish to _meet_ him, for reasons _completely_ unknown to me, as I told them as little as I could of his true identity – "

"You will contact them again, Severus," the Headmaster interrupted decisively. "You will ask them to pass on _all_ of the inheritance – most through you, if possible – "

"But – Headmaster – "

"It may be necessary, Severus," Albus replied sharply, rising from his chair. "And if the plan does not – succeed _quite_ the way it should, _you_ will have responsibility over most of the funds – " Severus' lips thinned.

"You still think there is a decision to be made, don't you?" he offered quietly. Really, the man had _blinded_ himself to their predicament in some ways – Severus could think of nothing more _damaging_ than the other possible alternative they had discussed for his – for Potter –

"Will you inform him of his choices, Severus?"

_Avoiding my question, as always_, Severus thought, rather bitterly. _The man never _changes_, does he_ –

"Yes, Headmaster." Albus sighed, placing a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Severus – "

"You _quite_ understand my views of the matter, Albus. I will inform him of everything he needs to know, as we agreed." Severus gave the old man a glance as he began to leave. "I will do my best, Headmaster."

Albus nodded, relieved, and left the dungeon, closing the door with a soft _clang_.

Severus smiled, darkly, to himself. Of course, doing his best would mean making sure that his – the boy _wanted_ to follow through with what his father thought was the better plan, but, of course, Albus didn't need to know _that_.

As Severus felt his eyelids begin to droop, he reminded himself to be careful. Ensuring the correct outcome for tonight's deliberations…would not…be…easy…

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_A/N: Don't worry, I'm uploading the two monsterish chapters at the same time, so stay put – you'll get your fix in a minute…_

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	6. Chapter 6: The Decision

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_A/N: Of course, JKR owns everything you don't recognise in this story. _

_To forestall a few questions, I just want to say that the slightly stilted nature of Severus' dialogue in the last chapter was supposed to reflect his unease around Harry at that point, as well as his guardedness. Now, Dumbledore is gone, and Harry is more focused on lashing out at him that at really trying to find out what he's thinking at first, so he's a bit more lax, and lets himself try to puzzle out a few things he's been putting off for a while._

_Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Oh, and I'll probably be updating this story a bit more than _A Surreal Tale_ because I've plotted this one out more properly and everything, and because it was my first idea, and my first baby…writerly sigh…on with the story…_

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**Chapter 6: The Decision**

Severus awoke with a shiver and a start, turning instinctively to look at his son. The boy was shivering – not from the cold that had stolen into the room while Severus' weary eyes had closed of their own accord, but from some unknown fear that assailed him now in his dreams. Severus rose quickly, cursing himself for not thinking to add a few magical flames to the Muggle fire, or adding a warming charm to the boy's bed.

His _son's_ bed.

Severus Snape straightened, after incanting a hasty _incendio_, and moved to check on the slight, pale boy he increasingly easily thought of as his son. Shaking him roughly awake, he summoned the large crate of potions to his side immediately, watching as Harry's now-lengthened limbs, stiff from the nightmare that he told to no one, slowly loosened as he sat up.

Severus didn't touch him or speak to him, giving a show of being absorbed in the mixing and decanting of the contents of four large glass bottles into the smaller vials Harry could easily drink from. As he himself had seen earlier that week, on one of the days he'd managed to drag himself from his teaching at Hogwarts – teaching Potions _and_ Defence Against The Dark Arts for that week after the Dursley's demise had been an absolutely _horrible_ experience, despite his love for both subjects – Harry had evidently developed a dislike of having anyone near him as he awoke.

Severus mulled over the matter as he slowed his actions a touch, trying to give the boy time to regain awareness of his surroundings. He bent closer over the tray of vials he was slowly preparing, hearing Harry stir in the bed nearby. He'd been a little surprised by the vehemence with which Harry had argued his case for knowledge, and the rather nimble fashion in which he'd dodged Dumbledore's probing questions hours before. Severus frowned, adding a pinch of salt to the first vial with a much more delicate, slow hand than usual, allowing himself, for the first time in days, to really _think_ the matter through.

The Harry Potter of old would have sullenly refused to answer, immediately arousing even more suspicion of his (usually childish) motives, or blown up at the hapless adult trying to aid him.

But then, Snape reminded himself, the Harry Potter of old didn't have these sharp, almost delicate features, or that violent sharpness in the noticeably darker green eyes he felt probing his back even now – sharpness that came from pain, and horrors the Potter of old had never seen…

"Don't hedge any more, if you please, _Severus_," the boy – his _son's_ voice came sharply behind him. "I'd rather prefer drinking those disgusting brews as soon as possible to watching you hover over them as if you were brewing Wolfsbane or something." It was easier than Snape thought it would have been to keep from wincing, again, at the scorn in that tone, even as he speeded up his movements. Harry had done that, also, hours before – continuously calling him _Severus_ with such a note of – of _scorn_, and something much darker than that, in his sharper, deeper voice.

Thinking darkly that his harsh experience as a spy paid _sometimes_, Snape affected a light shrug, levitating the potions to Harry's side with a negligent flick of his wand, as if he were not watching his son's sluggish movements with the sharp eyes of what he realised, with not a little horror, could only be the disquiet of a – of a father.

Dark green eyes met worried black ones, and Harry raised the next vial to his lips with a small smirk, defiance flaring in the lines of his slimmer, longer frame. Snape reluctantly dragged his eyes from the – still smirking – boy.

_His son._

Snape sighed, retrieving the empty vials from the tray beside Harry on the bed, feeling sharp green eyes on him as he scoured them with several cleansing spells. He even remained silent, powerfully realising something for the first time, as Harry gave him another smirk and said something scornful about the heat in the room.

_He's certainly a Snape_, Severus told himself, wordlessly scouring Harry's thin, defiant face for a moment, before turning back to the crate of potions, leaving the challenge in Harry's words unanswered.

He wondered now, how he hadn't _seen_ it before – how he hadn't taken the defiance and unflinching strength of spirit for what it _was_, instead of labelling it as mere inherited pride. Before, he'd felt outraged that this stupid boy was truly his son, felt trapped and injured by the strange circumstances that had befallen him, not seeing the _stupidity_ of Harry Potter's actions for what _it_ truly was – a trueness of heart and spirit that he knew could not have come from Severus Snape, duplicitous spy; scheming and utter _Slytherin_ that he was.

_It comes from Lily_, he repeated to himself, ignoring the further scornful comments Harry continued to make, about how irritating it was to be cooped up in this room, with only Snape to amuse him.

Silent, he looked at Harry's face, alive with impatience and something – ugly – and wondered if, finally, his trueness – his _stupidity_ had been leeched from him.

_By the stupidity of others_. By the folly of Dumbledore, believing Voldemort would make short work of the boy, and not keep him wasting away in that hole of a cell, being tortured and used over and over again.

By the folly of his _father_, who had been too frightened for his role as a spy to press the matter _properly_ with either of his masters. Severus' shoulders sagged imperceptibly as Harry Potter continued to voice his complaints, the tone of his voice becoming louder and louder as he raged against his imprisonment, and – finally – the cause of it. Dumbledore had thought the war lost when Harry had been taken, and his medallion left behind. Severus knew now that the war _would be_ lost if this angry, broken young man before him decided to turn on the side that had ultimately wronged him.

"And _you_," Harry's green eyes focused, finally, on Snape, as he stood there, made dumb by the fear in his heart.

_His son_.

"Do you think I don't see you watching me? You know your – your _concern_ is pathetic, don't you?" Harry's voice was now low, soft and – _silky_, Severus realised, still unable to move. Harry jerked to a sitting position, looking for the entire world like a snake about to strike. "Where was your _concern_ when I needed it? You think I don't see you – _all of you_, tiptoeing around me like I'm about to go off?" His new, thinner lips curled into something that could only be called a sneer.

"You are unwell, Potter." Snape said, as coldly as he could. Harry began to chuckle, a sound that was unnerving in its deepness.

"It's really and truly 'Potter' now, is it, _Snape_?" Harry's eyes narrowed. "It wasn't _Potter_ when you finally deigned to come to my cell – oh _no_, it was _Harry_ then. You needed me to listen – not to slice you up like you _knew_ I'd want to – "

"Frankly, the fact that you, Potter, would have been _capable_ of doing such a thing is laughable in the extreme," Severus shot back, his mind racing – he knew it, he knew what was coming next – but no, the boy – _his son_ – was – was _smiling_ again.

Snape felt a shudder trying to work its way down his spine, and suppressed it. That smile was –

"You _did_ see Veron die, didn't you?" Harry chuckled again, his green eyes staring at a point somewhere above Snape's shoulder, disturbing in their intensity. "Didn't take as long as it should've – too many veins open, I suppose…" Dark green eyes met black again. "He _did_ die, didn't he? Be a – a _shame_ if he didn't…" Snape shook his head, wordless. "Or, then again, it might not – wouldn't mind doing that again – _slower_ this time, mind you. Vein by vein," Hatred shone from Harry's face as he spat out the last bit, turning his eyes to study an imaginary spot on the blanket that covered him. "I suppose Dumbledore knows he's dead…?"

"Yes," Severus replied shortly. Sometimes, he still couldn't entirely believe that this boy was Harry _Potter_; this young man whose eyes shone with the kind of malice that spoke of premeditated murder. Harry turned back to him, a question replacing the hate on his face. "He doesn't know – doesn't know…exactly _how_."

"You didn't tell him." A statement – as if he talked of – of _schoolwork_. Snape suppressed the urge to shudder again.

"No."

"He'd have a fit, wouldn't he," Harry said, his words heavy with an unspoken question. Snape sighed a little, wondering if the decision _not_ to inform Dumbledore that his _saviour_ already had blood – all too willingly – on his hands would come back to haunt him. He'd been angry, when he'd first decided to withhold the information, but that was a far cry from the decision he would make _now_…

He hoped it was worth it –

"He would." Sharp green eyes sought out his own. "And he will not." Harry stared at him for a moment, then nodded, smoothing down his blanket with his new, slim hands.

"I thought you'd see it that way." Harry murmured, before changing the subject. "What happened to Iona?"

"The adder?"

"_My_ adder." The note of ownership was unmistakeable. Severus coughed lightly, preparing to deal with this new development.

"You were comatose." A dark eyebrow went up. "We thought – " Harry made a small noise of disapproval – "that having an adder around in your poor condition would not help matters."

"Dumbledore thought she'd bite me? He thought _Iona _would bite _me?_ After sticking by me at Stone Hollow – " Harry's voice began to rise, taking on a vicious quality Severus recognised, eyes widening, as his own. Harry eyed him when he made no comment. "Cat got your tongue?" The scornful quality of his tone now, Snape realised, belatedly, was _also_ his own.

_My son_. Snape cleared his throat, trying to shake off the unfamiliar feeling of _pride_. "Dumbledore thought it would be safer, yes, but for _us_," he began to explain, unconsciously drawing closer to Harry's bed. "We are none of us a Parselmouth, and she would undoubtedly have bitten us. Severally." Harry looked contemptuous, but nodded in understanding.

"Can't fault _that_ reasoning, I suppose…" Harry began to study his long fingers and fingernails. "When will I be getting back to Hogwarts?"

Snape gave a small nod, masking his pleasure at his son's quick grasp of the situation. He conjured a chair and sat down, black eyes still watching Harry's slightly nervous movements. His – his _son_ was leading up to something – something he was probably unprepared to answer – he could tell.

"When the Headmaster feels you are ready to undertake the task," he paused lightly "Harry." His son's eyes found him again, filled with amusement.

"Softening me up, eh?" He brushed his fingers on the blanket in a kind of dismissal. "I'll ask the big question when I'm ready, thank you. Go on…"

"Well," Severus continued, leaning forward slightly, "Dumbledore has requested that I – _train_ you." He went on as Harry raised an interested eyebrow. "Not only in the arts you will need at a – _ahem_ – future time, but in the art of – shall we say – misdirection." Harry's eyes narrowed again, his green gaze intent on Snape. "You will learn how to deport yourself in a suitable manner, as well as some key skills in various subjects – Potions, most of all. After all," Severus began to drawl, at the surprise on his son's face, "the Potions Master's nephew and apprentice must know considerably more of _that_ subject than the average student."

Severus tried not to try not to breathe – he only hoped his – ah – _representation_ of the plan would draw his son in –

"So I'll be staying like this – no glamour, no potions…"

"No glamour, no potions." Snape took a deep breath, deciding just to broach the matter once and for all. "You will be presented to the world, as Tobias Snape, my nephew and apprentice." His black eyes peered sharply at Harry, watching for a reaction as his son sighed and scooted backwards on his small bed, so that his back was against the headboard. "Well?"

" 'Well' what?" Harry shot back, his lips starting to twist into a smile. "You _really_ need to get rid of this idea you have that I'm stupid. _Honestly_, Severus – did you really think I wouldn't guess that I'd be disguised?" Harry snorted, tipping his head back slightly, so that his long, tangled black locks brushed the wall. "I really need to get this hair washed, actually," he suddenly remarked, frowning as he peered at a greasy lock. "Listen, I knew something was up when Dumbledore didn't try to fiddle with my appearance after telling me you had to break the spell – I knew I'd be going back to Hogwarts at _some_ point, since it's a waste for people to be guarding me here. And, since introducing me at Hogwarts looking like _this_, given that I'm officially dead, anyway, is completely out of the question, I supposed I'd be going as a relative of yours. So," that small smirk reappeared on his son's thin face, "_deportment_ lessons. Going to be teaching me how to sneer the Snape way, eh?"

Severus Snape struggled not to smile. "Something like that," he admitted, darting his black eyes everywhere but at the grinning visage of his son. It was going better than he'd _dreamed_, to be honest. Severus shifted slightly, closing his eyes to mask his triumph. Dumbledore's decision be _damned_ – Harry would now regard it as moot, as a foregone conclusion. And, as they had seen, his opinion would be _very_ hard to change, set as it now was…

After a few moments, Harry shrugged, squaring his shoulders and examining his fingernails once more. Severus crossed one leg over the other, examining the toe of his left boot closely, wondering if he'd be right about the question that would come next.

Perhaps something about the Sword of Gryffindor? No – that was too simple, the boy, smart as he'd shown himself to be, would easily guess its current location in Hogwarts.

Something about being able to _keep_ the snake – Iona, he'd called her – at Hogwarts?

_Too simple_, Severus dismissed the idea. _It will be something more important – some privilege he previously had, or – perhaps – something to do with the Order_ –

The _Order_.

Dear Merlin, Dumbledore had _not_ included that, on purpose – Severus had barely noticed, perplexed as he'd been with the old man's hesitation to decide…

A short silence ensued for a moment, and Harry was the first one to break it.

"So," he began, his voice lowering slightly, into a drawl, "the question you've all been waiting for." Severus raised black eyes to intense green. "Will Tobias Snape be joining the Order – or not?" Severus sighed, wishing he'd not been left behind _again_ to face the fire of Harry's rage, while Lupin and Dumbledore gallivanting around magical London.

"No, Harry," Severus began, going straight to the point. Harry's face twisted into an unreadable expression. Severus tried again, knowing he had to phrase this in a certain way: "Harry, Dumbledore has – "

"Kicked it?" Harry jerked out. "I should be so lucky…"

"_Harry_ – "

"That's _Potter_ to you," Harry said coldly. A mirthless smile appeared on his lips as Severus quieted down. "Oh – I forgot – that should be _Snape_." Snape opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off. "Spare me the lecture, _father_."

"He _said_ it would be for your own good – " Severus hedged, inventing a little desperately, hoping the boy's regard for Dumbledore's good opinion was not _all_ gone –

"You know who you remind me of?" Harry cut him off again, his tone vicious. "_Lupin_ – honestly – _Oh, Harry_," he began, affecting a deep, concerned tone, "_it's for your own good_ – "

"Don't you _dare_ compare me to that – "

"Got your attention, have I?" Harry's tone became careless, even light, as he leaned back on the headboard. Severus felt his face darken with discomfort, as he realised the boy – his son – had manoeuvred him to this point. "Good. Now that you're truly listening, I'd like to ask you something, and receive an _honest_," he stressed the word slightly, "opinion. Do you think Tobias Snape should join the order?"

"Yes. It would look slightly suspicious if my nephew were not to ultimately associate with the side of light, I agree, yes."

This had been a bad idea – if only _Dumbledore_ had foreseen this, he wouldn't have had to –

"_Right_." Harry said, tone vicious once more. "It all comes down to him, doesn't it? Dumbledore – the bane of my fucking life…" Harry stared at Severus through the bitter sheen of tears. "He thinks I'm too young, doesn't he?" Severus remained silent, making no comment as Harry swore. It did no harm to let him think that – he could _hardly_ tell the boy of the Headmaster's fears that he would turn against them if sent to Hogwarts without the pressure of his true _identity_, could he – "How does he go _on_ like that? How can _anyone_ remain a child – seeing what I've seen – "

"No one can," Severus said gently, feeling the vast, achingly familiar irritation rising up in his chest to join what seemed to be a perpetual simmering cauldron of anger directed at many things – Dumbledore, the most. If only he would _let go_ of his foul indecision, and give the boy a chance to _prove_ himself –

Severus smiled inwardly, bitterly. Why, only a month ago, he'd have known what these burning, painful thoughts were – _mad_ – madness brought on by this boy, this skeleton of a boy, so full of rage…

_My son…_

Harry swiped angrily at his eyes, hands shaking with anger. Severus suddenly saw that the bed and the surrounding objects were beginning to vibrate and smoke, and wondered, not for the first time, just _how_ powerful this young man was – would eventually be –

The objects slowly stopped shaking, and Harry Potter, his son, unclenched his fists. Slowly.

"Does he need to see me kill someone?" he inquired, softly, eyes shining with rage and malice. "Maybe he does – maybe he needs to see – needs to see – " He cut himself off abruptly, mind racing. "Or perhaps that's it – he needs to see; see some of my memory, at least…" He gave an involuntary shudder, blinking sharply, staring down at the edge of the blanket as it twisted and untwisted in his hands.

Snape reached out, slowly taking one of Harry's hands. Although he refused to talk of it, one could clearly see how much those seven days in the hands of his enemies had affected him.

Unwanted compassion and remorse swelled in Snape's chest, merging into a fierce desire to let the boy – his son – have _anything_ he wanted so much. Somehow he would _convince_ the old fool to go _through_ with this plan – this plan that could save his son –

Harry's thin frame trembled at his touch, but stilled as his father wordlessly continued to stroke his hand. After most of the fierce emotions threatening to overwhelm Harry seemed to still, Snape withdrew his touch.

"I'll see that he lets you join," he said, a little stiffly, his chest still filled with a burgeoning desire to hold the thin, blank-looking boy in his arms. Harry nodded, hands twisting uselessly in his lap. After a moment of charged, tense silence, Snape rose to leave.

"Can I have my wand back?"

The plaintive note in Harry's lower, subdued tone, made Snape wince inwardly. He kept his face impassive as dark green eyes darted up to his face. Pleading eyes.

"I have spoken to Dumbledore of that, already. _He_ said not until you can _move_, Harry – but," Severus continued recklessly on, disregarding the fact that he'd spoken to Albus of no such thing, "I will speak to him of it again – so you can arm yourself once your magical energy fully returns, which it should do in no time."

Severus knew he'd just lied, outright, and knew he'd rambled on, and knew he'd exaggerated Harry's condition, but he found that he could not, _would_ not take it back. Harry's eyes remained on him, filled with some nameless emotion that struck at his heart again, then returned to his hands, which had stilled in his lap, long, pale fingers that twitched as if they felt the weight of Snape's black gaze upon them again.

"Thank you."

The words were said softly, slowly, as if he had to think hard to remember how to say them. Snape desperately willed away the thought of those same words, spoken from the bloody, peeling lips of that broken, battered figure, in that dark, dank cell.

"Do try to rest, Po – Snape."

Snape left the room quickly then, but in just enough time to see the thin lips quirk – just a little – at their corners. And, even as he berated himself for the way his heart lifted at the sight of the tiny smile edging onto Harry's lips, he let himself have a long, parting look at the door.

_My son._

He strode up the stairs and through a corridor to the withered Floo, to contact Lupin and Dumbledore, as he'd promised. As painful as that had been, he knew, now, that Dumbledore would be forced to give in to Harry – the man's weak heart would _surely_ give way somewhat, when faced with _that_ –

Severus sighed to himself. There was only one way to find out, of course.

* * *

Dumbledore looked at the wily expression lurking beneath Severus' blank features, and he knew, very well, in that moment, that he should have known.

His eyes flitted over to Harry for a moment – but there was no recourse, no help waiting for him there. Harry's eyes were nearly as dark as his father's, in that light and position, and they were hard. Implacable.

Dumbledore allowed himself a moment to curse his unthinking folly. He'd forgotten he'd be facing _two_ Snapes this evening, not one.

"So, Harry," He began, deciding to plunge recklessly into the fray.

_Start out shallow, Albus…_

"Severus has told you of the plan for your stay at Hogwarts, I believe…?" A disquieting smirk appeared on Harry's face as he shifted easily in bed, green eyes flicking mockingly over to Severus and back as he nods.

"Yes – he told me I'd be going as Tobias Snape, instead of good old _Harry_." The vicious undertone as he says his own name was slight, but Dumbledore could easily pick it up. His weary heart clenched spasmodically in him – it would not _do_ for Harry to hate himself in any form, not do at _all_ – "Which begs the question, Severus – where on _earth_ did you think up that horrid name? It'll make me sound like a monk of some sort, for crying out loud – "

"Severus provided the name – " Dumbledore began, eager to get this unimportant bit over with. But, apparently, Harry had plans – the whole thing was beginning to feel distinctly like when Severus was trying to find out something without asking directly – very unsettling, coming from Harry, sitting there as he was, thin arms folded closely over his thin chest. Looking, for the entire world, like the boy he once was.

Dumbledore knew his boyhood had been ripped from him in those awful days of captivity, and that it was why he was here.

To make this…_decision_.

"And it is of _Severus_ I asked the question, _Professor_," Harry cut in, sharply. His eyes sought out the Headmasters' boldly, but his blue eyes slid easily away.

He had no idea, yet, how he would make this decision, especially now that Harry seemed so – so _inured_ to the idea of _not_ being himself. _Surely that was bad news, as well_ –

Albus' train of thought was rudely interrupted when Severus coughed lightly, an uncertain look coming forth from the blank sea on his face.

"Well – I made it up on the spur of the moment, Ha – Harry," he stumbled over the name a little, making the old wizard beside him want to smile, for a fleeting moment. _He can be so stubborn_ – "I was telling – ah – someone about the existence of my relatives, and I needed to make it convincing…and prompt the person to tell me information, about your whereabouts." Severus eyed his son as a slow, cold smile spread gently, easily, over Harry's face. The whole discussion was becoming even more unnerve –

"You're dancing around the name of this _person_, Severus," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "Who was it? Why don't you wish to say their name?" Harry pushed back his greasy hair from his brow, eyes glowing with something…_hidden_. Severus twitched nervously, alarming his old mentor. _What has he to be nervous of_…?

"Lucius Malfoy, Harry…"

Dumbledore understood, clearly, what his faithful spy was nervous of, when he saw the most frightening expression emerge on the face of the boy before them. Hatred – such as he'd never _seen_ on that –

"He knows all about me, does he?" Harry's lip curled, dark green eyes rooting both men to the spot. "Go on, Severu – _father_ – tell me what – what that…_man_…knows about me."

Severus started speaking because he had to. Dumbledore knew suddenly that his formidable spy was just as leery of what Harry would say next as _he_ was, and he snorted inwardly. Two great wizards, quaking in their polished – or, as was Severus' case, _un_polished boots because of one thin, abnormally angry boy.

The boy that was the hope of the wizarding world.

Dumbledore tried to push away the sodden burden of guilt, but could not. It galled him that he'd not been able to protect Harry long enough – not been able to save him – not been _there_ to see, or to help. The lingering disquiet from the meeting with the Minister only served to remind him of how he'd been forced to stay with Phillip Orwell that night, when he'd been needed most by _Harry's_ side. The greater good drowned him, trapped him at every turn, and it had been exceedingly terrible to find that it barred him from helping this poor, broken hero when he had needed it most.

"…told him you were too handsome for your own good, very likely promiscuous and somehow trying to annoy me with your little demonstrations of power…" Severus was now saying, black eyes intent on Harry's frame and face. Harry's little smile grew wider.

"How…interesting." Those dark green eyes raced with nameless emotions, the stance of the body belonging to them exuding hatred for a long minute, then shifting slightly back into strained neutrality. "Can't wait to see the result of _that_ misconception – "

"You will be trained, Harry," Dumbledore interjected, searching the face of the young man before him, trying to _see_ where that path would lead them – wondering if Harry really _cared_ anymore. "Severus will teach you the things you need to know – how to act, and so on." He prayed, _prayed_ that Harry wouldn't –

"I know. Where's Iona?"

Dumbledore felt himself stumbling over his answer, wrong-footed by the rapid change of pace. Harry was staring at him now, all traces of that cold smile long gone. How _would_ he make this decision? How could he know if sending Harry back to Hogwarts, disguised, would only stoke this dark rage within him? Dumbledore sighed – it was a veritable nightmare.

"I assume Severus told you why – "

"Yes, Professor, and I'm telling you now, I want her _back_." A fierce protectiveness shone from Harry's eyes, easing Dumbledore's worries somewhat. "She stood by me – she has the _right_ to be with me, still." The hidden reproach in those words stung, but the old wizard was too intelligent to let them show.

Right now, Harry would only latch onto those feelings of remorse, just like he'd done, slyly, to Remus, disconcerting the concerned werewolf and driving him, in part, to an early departure from the Manor. Dumbledore nodded at Severus, exchanging a glance with him just before the dour man left the room to fetch the special box they'd prepared for the poisonous pet of Harry's. Dumbledore sat down heavily, near Harry's bed, although he was not entirely sure he _wanted_ to be left alone with him – the hate seemed to grow daily within the boy's broken body, crowding out every other feeling.

Even as Snape re-entered the room, levitating the small box before him gingerly, Dumbledore knew he could do what he must, if Harry – did not remain – on their side. He shifted in his seat, eyeing the boy out of the corner of his eye. Of course the pain and guilt from _that_ would crucify him – but he knew, all too well, what would happen to him and the confused world surrounding them if Harry decided none of it was worth his protection. Those _memories_ Severus had grudgingly given up, in bits and pieces, of the stunning escape – the strength with which Harry had fought, nearly to his death, in Stone Hollow after escape and torture and blood loss and further hunger…it could destroy them all.

Harry quivered with anticipation as he snatched the box from Severus, opening it without fear. When the dark, venomous snake tried to strike his active hand, he only hissed at it – almost _reproachfully_. It hissed sullenly back, sliding onto his left wrist with alarming speed.

"Harry…" Dumbledore felt himself saying – that snake was _extremely_ lethal if –

"It – it iss all right, Professsssor…" Harry slurred back, holding his arm stiff as the small length slid higher up. It was, evidently, rather difficult for him to speak English with a snake he – well, _liked_ – so nearby. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his whole frame tight with conflict.

The sight before him now would strike fear and trepidation into the heart of any normal wizard. Harry was hissing softly – almost _crooning_ to that lethal snake as it curled tight around his upper arm, black coils glistening like deadly jewels, hissing back. Dumbledore felt fear weave its cold tendrils deep into his heart. He had to _decide_, _now_. He opened his mouth slowly, glancing at Severus, who was just as entranced by the disturbing sight unfolding before them. He couldn't trust Severus to be impartial in – in _this_ – he'd have to take any action himself –

Dumbledore felt an overwhelming urge to bow his head under the heavy weight of the obligation upon him. He didn't _want_ to do this – it was – Harry had suffered so – he wouldn't turn Dark on them – he hoped – how he _hoped_ –

"Ssilly, issn't she?"

The soft tone broke the iron chains of confusion around the old headmaster easily, as the boy before him surprised him yet again. He'd expected to hear Harry gloat, smugly pointing out _another_ of his failings, but – no, Harry was smiling – a fragile, soft smile, as the dark snake coiled lazily higher, slithering smoothly across his shoulders, hissing fit to burst.

"If you could only _hear_ what sshe's saying now – scolding me – reminds me of Molly Weasley – " Harry broke into hissing again, his attention now fully on the snake. Dumbledore felt hope rise suddenly within him, hooking its own, stronger tendrils into his heart. The fact that Harry would address no one with much respect now did not matter –what mattered was that he could still love, even if it was a snake.

Harry's eyes found him suddenly, piercing him with their directness. "I'm keeping her with me, Professor – I think she's bound to me now – she'd only find me again if we freed her…" Dumbledore felt shocked for a long moment, and could nearly not nod his head in agreement. Harry was – was – he'd just _implied_ he'd defer to his judgement, even after all that had gone on between –

Harry laughed softly, suddenly, eyes filling with a slightly alien amusement. Dumbledore blinked.

"You should _really_ Occlude around me, you know…uncertified Legilimens, and all that…" Harry smiled again, darkly, smugly. "…Then again, it _is_ rather gratifying that you still trust me as much as that." He began to coax Iona off him, drawing her from his shoulder in soft, gleaming coils. "Thanks for taking care of her, actually – really thought I'd lost her back in that barn – " he deposited her in the box, hissing sharply at her when she tried to climb back out. Closing the lid gently, he pushed it a little to one side.

Dumbledore could still not think of much to say, as Harry eyed him shrewdly.

"You give yourself less credit with me, you know – you're still a wizard whose opinion I respect – even if I'll not always agree." Harry grinned suddenly, bitterly. "Just know I have a backbone that doesn't take to being forced to bend, Professor Dumbledore." Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. It seemed the only thing he could really do, now.

"You will still join the Order, Harry." The words left his mouth almost before he realised he was speaking. Dumbledore smiled wryly, both at the surprised expressions on the faces of the two Snapes before him and at the fact that he'd made the decision almost unconsciously. He rose from his seat quickly. "I will be in touch, Harry – Severus – I must return to Hogwarts once more." He shot a look of kindness at Harry, who still looked stunned at his easy capitulation, obviously accustomed to fighting to change the stubborn old wizard's mind. "Do not overwork yourself, Harry." Harry nodded slowly, just before Dumbledore turned for the door.

The fear was still there, lurking within his weary, burdened heart. But the hope in it, the hope that saw a reconciliation in the futures of those two great wizards, was stronger.

His day, Albus mused, had just gotten quite a bit better. Remembering something, he looked round at Severus, who was staring at Harry with an oddly soft look on his face as the boy bent over the snake's box again.

"Severus – if we may speak, before I leave – "

Severus complied easily, of course. Eyeing him now, Albus had a strong feeling that he'd gotten exactly the – _decision_ – he'd wanted.

"Remus will return at the end of today, as planned?" Severus asked, disregarding the hissing Harry was doing in the direction of the reopened box containing the snake, as he stepped forward.

"As planned." Albus paused, feeling his weary heart lift within him, despite the tasks that remained before them all. "You mentioned something, Severus – of the Book of Zorn?" The spy nodded eagerly.

"Yes, Headmaster – but of course, there has been no _time_ to – "

"I know," Albus cut him off, giving him an apologetic look. The impending decision had all but clouded his mind to the many other issues that faced them still, the spectre of the mysterious Book not one of the least foreboding. "I spoke with the Vadims, while you were away, and they have agreed to tell us of it."

"The _Vadims_?" Severus repeated sceptically. "They don't look much like the type to know of powerful magical artefacts in the _least_ – more like farmers of a sort – is that why they fled Romania?" Albus nodded sharply.

"That, and _more_," he said simply, locking his blue eyes with the concerned black ahead of him. "I will need you there, tomorrow."

"And of my lessons?"

"It has already been arranged for the students to use the time to write suitably difficult essays in that time. _Including_ the Defence lessons, Severus – "

"Wait," a sharp voice interrupted suddenly. "You're teaching _Defence?"_ Severus nodded impatiently at his inquisitive son. Harry was now watching their conversation intently, his snake all but forgotten.

"Yes – Headmaster? You were – "

"Someone will soon take over those duties in particular, Severus. One of the Vadims, I believe."

"_What_?"

"You will understand, Severus, when they tell us of their ties to the Book of Zorn. It will – "

"What book?"

The two men turned sharply to gaze on the teenager, whose face was screwed up slightly, as if he were trying to remember something. It was Albus that spoke first, _hoping_ – perhaps Voldemort had let something slip, perhaps of it's location, which Severus had been – _understandably_ – unable to search out –

"The Book of Zorn, Harry."

Harry's face went blank.

"And those – what do you call them – _Vadins_ have something to do with it?"

"Evidently…" Severus sighed. "The Dark Lord, of course, told me nothing, other than it was in the filthy hands of Wormtail, who apparently translated it – "

"Don't trust them," Harry cut in abruptly, startling the two wizards slightly. "That _book_ – "

"Harry, they _are_ on our side – they had nothing left to remain in Romania for, and – "

"I'm serious, Professor," Harry cut in again, his face darkening with anger. "That book – Voldemort went on and _on_ about it – he started trying curses from it on _me_, towards the end…" He gestured at his scarred hands. "_That_ was from one – they were _horrible_ – "

"The Dark Lord used a curse from the same book on Lucius Malfoy, as you will remember, Headmaster," Severus added, black eyes gleaming with slightly disconcerting malice. "He was pale, shaking – _and_ it was an extremely long-lasting curse, I'm _sure_ of it – "

Dumbledore blanched, something suddenly clicking together in his sharp mind. He hoped it would not be what he now thought of, but – "How long?" he asked, urgently, enough that Severus was slightly taken aback.

"At least four days – "

Dumbledore shook his head, stunned. _Another_ curse from the days of Grindelwald – the Days of Pain, it had been called, crudely – it had been extremely popular among his followers, for forcing better behaviour from the more unwilling members of their crusade…

It was too much, _far_ too much to be a mere coincidence. And that, coupled with the unnervingly familiar scars on Harry's hands, could only mean one thing. The Book of Zorn had been connected, somehow, with _Grindelwald_…

"Don't trust those Vadins," Harry repeated again, eyes boring into Albus' skin. "If they wrote it – or _knew_ who wrote it – "

"I will come, Headmaster," Severus said, giving the old man a sharp look. "When will the meeting take place…?"

Albus could barely remember his answer, or much of the rest of the conversation the three wizards ran through before his departure.

On finally reaching his office, he sank into his favourite chair, soaking up the worried trills of Fawkes as the phoenix fluttered to the back of his squashy chair.

He could only hope that he hadn't brought yet _another_ danger into the Order's midst.

* * *

_A/N: Would you believe me if I told you this was _all_ supposed to be in the same chapter? I'm completely serious, I assure you – no idea how it ballooned so much – I knew I had four significant bits to get around, but I didn't know how _long_ they would be, really. And, of course, I wanted badly to keep most of the conversation between Snape and Harry at the beginning of Chapter 6, which I wrote way before this._

_Anyway, stay tuned for Chapter 7: Meet and Machinate, in which we _meet_ the illustrious Vadim family, and find out the truth of the Book of Zorn and its author…_

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	7. Chapter 7: Training Tobias

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_A/N: Usual disclaimer applies. I'm surprised at all of you – none of you asked how little ole Harry managed to read Dumbledore's frazzled mind – but, as generous as I am, I'll tell you anyway. As Dumbledore was highly emotional just then, and not bothering to Occlude around Severus and Harry because he trusted them, the festering emotions closest to the surface of his usually closed mind were very easy to read. That's why Harry didn't flip out any more – don't you think he would have, knowing that Dumbledore was afraid he'd turn dark?_

_Anyway, thanks to duj, who explained the whole review thing to me properly – it's annoying to see people whose chapters are practically all review responses, and here's me, fretting about being booted off…_

_And yeah – I'd like to think of this as a more subtle, realistic Dumbledore-bashing fic, where you're angry and exasperated and sorry for the poor old man all at once. He has a lot of problems, what with being the leader of the resistance to Voldemort and so on, and having to manage all the problems the 'good' side has, so it's understandable that he doesn't always do his best._

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**Chapter 7 – Training Tobias**

Severus Snape Apparated into the cluster of trees with a louder _pop_ than usual, as he was feeling rather better than usual. He muttered a force-expelling charm, pushing his way through the thick trees easily, his mood bettering at the thought of the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts perpetually searching for the 'path' through.

A rather nasty smile curled its way onto the spy's face. There _was_ no path – but, as he reminded himself, that was the _point_.

As petty as it was, Severus rather _liked_ having one over his old master once in a while. The knowledge of the nonexistent 'path' through the stubborn copse of trees, along with several other petty little secrets, had tided Severus over through some of the worse periods of disgust with the Headmaster, sometimes, when his mood was exceedingly foul, helping to quell his urge to hex the old man's tea at Order meetings.

Severus felt his thin lips stretch into another unaccustomed smile. At times like _this_, the 'path' simply added to his good humour. Emerging easily from the copse – Disillusioned before he took a step out, of course – he slipped through the back gate, slowing his steps as he entered the overgrown garden. It had been a long three days since he'd been here, days filled with activity and secret meetings here and there.

Severus sniffed carefully – interesting, he swore he could smell a hint of burnwort – _I'll check in the garden – must be a good crop, to be drifting out in that manner_ – he kept his footsteps quiet – with a Silencing Charm, of course: no sense in wasting time and effort on doing _that_ by hand – or, rather, by _foot_.

He and Dumbledore had met with the Vadims, as planned, on Tuesday evening, warding themselves away into the small room next to the dark, still-dingy library. Severus pursed his lips momentarily, letting his quick mind flit over the memory – for it had been an unprecedented success, and certainly, he surmised, with a tinge of bitterness, one of Dumbledore's _better_ ideas this year.

Once behind closed doors, the Vadims had seemed, collectively, to shed their relative ordinariness as the older woman, Zaharia, had agreed to teach Defence at Hogwarts (Severus had inwardly rejoiced for a moment, then become slightly disgusted at how his feelings about teaching the class had come to such a pass) as well as tell them the story of the Book of Zorn, but for a price. She'd asked, understandably, for the unquestionable safety of her tiny family, and, _not_ so understandably, that her daughter not be forced to fight, or aid the Order on dangerous missions.

_That_ had not gone down very well with the plump girl, who had alternately pleaded and cursed, in thick, rapid Romanian, at her unyielding parent. The fact that her dark father had stayed _out_ of the whole matter had puzzled Severus, and later, Albus, to no end. Even as he made his slow way through the wild garden, stopping here and there to examine odd growths, he pondered the matter for a moment. It was almost unheard-of in Romania to have the _mother_ of the family in a such position of authority – but, really, when Severus thought back to the odd, rich silence that had hung easily on the three Romanians before the real story had begun, he felt was inclined to think that _that_ tradition was likely one of the _less_ strange ones the Vadims carried so stubbornly in their blood.

Zaharia Vadim had told them the dark history of Ioan Dinescu, a poor Romanian fool (in Severus' opinion) who had thought himself able to discover and use the secrets of his relatives, the Vadims, whose ancestors had been the finest and most unscrupulous Spellweavers in Romanian history. Dinescu had weaselled some of the family's trade secrets from an ambitious (and, Severus had sneeringly assumed, fairly loose-tongued) cousin, and later turned on the foolish young man, when, disowned by his angry family on the discovery of his treachery, he went seeking revenge on his sometime ally. Dinescu had disappeared after the disastrous (for his cousin) duel to the nearby town of Caracal, and begun the life of a criminal, using the spells he had woven previously. In what would later prove to be unfortunate turn of events, he met and joined with the young, bloodthirsty Grindelwald on one of his sallies into Caracal, with whom he planned an attack on the nearby city of Alexandria.

Severus had been surprised and rather sceptical of _that_ Dark Lord's involvement in the whole matter, but, on looking closely at his mentor's ashen face _and_ at the fierce expressions on all three of the Vadims' faces, had grudgingly believed the harsh old woman's fantastical tale. She had continued, ignoring his evident disbelief, weaving a clear account of the way Dinescu had flaunted his new spells, torturing Wizard and Muggle alike in his quest for recognition. However, in doing so, Ioan 'Zorn' Dinescu, as he'd been christened by his new, savage ally, had underestimated the small branch of Vadims that lived in Caracal, to his detriment. They proceeded to band together and challenge he and Grindelwald and their small band of criminals, and, when Zorn was struck down – with a modified version of what would eventually be known as the Killing Curse – Grindelwald fled Romania, taking with him the forbidden diary Zorn had filled with the secrets of his new, lethal spells.

All in all, he and Albus had left that close room knowing more about the Book of Zorn than anyone alive – perhaps, Severus had cockily supposed, even more than the Dark Lord _himself_. The spy had returned to the meetings able to understand his mad master's bouts of vast irritation, for, as much as the Dark Lord had crowed about Wormtail's translation of the old diary, he had not been able to use or understand many of the most dangerous spells that Dinescu had woven.

It had been, therefore, a rather good week – for Albus Dumbledore, most of all. After all, Severus could not discount the times he had been tortured for failure to cause the fear the Dark Lord thrived on through the new, dangerous spells. Severus had been appropriately chagrined and horrified, and had told tales of Dumbledore's new mistrust and secret, unknown methods of countering the new curses. He had, of course, left out the fact that Frantisek and Zaharia Vadim had grudgingly supplied the antidotes and calculations the Order had so desperately needed.

Actually, he had not informed the Dark Lord – Severus smirked – of the presence of the Vadims at _all_. He clearly remembered referring to them only as Dumbledore's _ragged Romanian refugees_…

Severus paused for a moment to examine some fine, wild burnwort growing a little way off the broken flagstones that had almost ceased to masquerade as a garden path, then straightened.

_I'll collect that on my way out_, he thought absently, his mind still on the yet mysterious Vadims. As much as the odd family had helped – well, as much as the old _couple_ had helped, he had a niggling feeling that they were not sharing all that they knew of the Book. Severus frowned, edging round a stooped, old tree to get back to the path. He'd _told_ Albus, of course – fat lot of good that had done – the old man had simply told him he was unwilling to force _some_ secrets from the family, or some sort of rot –

Severus stilled, staring at the back door. It was _ajar_ –

His wand was in his hand as soon as he set foot in the house, all his senses on high alert. The wards prickled over him, informing him of his son's presence – but – no one else's…?

Severus refused to pocket his wand, fear still beating in his chest – could be _anything_ that had battered its way into the creaking old Manor – he only hoped Lupin wasn't asleep, or worse –

Sounds of splashing seemed to assault his ears as he hastily descended the hidden staircase to the dungeons. He headed uncertainly for them, wand still aloft, and pinpointed the room they seemed to be coming from – it was the only dungeon with a fixed supply of water, which made _some_ sense, and it's door, too, was ajar –

Severus groaned, slotting his wand back into his robes.

For there before him, looking rather ill at ease, was a naked Harry Potter, splashing awkwardly in the old bathtub that had been moved down there last week, looking very much asleep.

In a _bathtub_.

Cursing, Severus strode over, firmly grasping one thin, slightly slippery shoulder and shaking the uneasily drowsing teen awake before he remembered that was something he was _not_ supposed to –

Harry reacted predictably, starting violently awake, splashing and clawing drowsily at Severus' robes. For a few minutes, it was all he could do to keep the foolish _brat_ from pulling him into the bath – there was unprecedented strength in those thin fingers, especially when powered by fear – but the startled, disgruntled spy soon regained his ability to speak.

_Ability to insult, if one is picky, really_ –

For that was exactly what he proceeded to do, keeping his voice level and clear, so that Potter would cease trying to drown them _both_ –

"Harry, you _imbecile_ – falling asleep in a _bath_ – cease trying to drown me this _moment_, Potter – "

The last word seemed to bring his frantic son back to his senses, although not in the way Severus had anticipated. Harry's eyes had finally opened, and, in the process of realising that it _was_ his father struggling (rather angrily, now) with him, the boy proceeded to do the most stupid thing he'd done since Severus had prowled into the clammy dungeon. His arms and legs seemed to weaken all at once, making him lose hold of his father's robes, forcing him to drop and slip into and under the water.

All of Severus' senses seemed to flood with alarm, his body jerking with surprise and fear as Harry slumped oddly into the water.

_Merlin save us_ –

"_POTTER!"_

Severus single-mindedly plunged his arms into the water, ignoring the shock of it – _hot – scalding hot_ – his panicking fingers seizing firmly at his son's thin, weakly struggling form –

His heart beat too fast in his chest – _bloody fucking_ – the boy's skin was slippery, slimy with more than enough time in the twice cursed and thrice be-_damned_ bathtub –

And then the foolish fucking bloody _fool_ was coughing and spluttering and wheezing onto Severus, who could barely keep from shaking and _throttling_ his damned offspring –

"_You – you fool_ – " was all Severus could manage as the foolish _brat_ clung weakly to him. He staggered slowly to his feet – how he'd gotten on his smarting knees he had no – and the boy was finally breathing, reddening all over with shame. Shame that Severus dearly wished to compound and imprint several times over on his thick skull, now covered in slimy, stringy strands of too-long hair. But first he had to hold the fool boy, to half lift his thin frame from the slightly frothing water of the tub –

"Sorry – " Potter began to cough, leaning hard on the side of the tub as his seething father _Accio_-ed the towel that should have _been_ in the bloody dungeon. "I'm – sorry – fell asleep – "

"You'd better be _sorry_," Severus snarled, all but flinging the heavy, thankfully _dry_ towel on top of the shivering, gasping _brat_. "You _idiot_ – where in the bloody _fuck_ is Lupin? Why in the name of all that is _magic_ and _holy_ did you _fall asleep_, idiot _boy_?"

"Was _warm_," Potter was saying, far too helplessly for Severus' taste, barely even grasping the towel that covered his uselessly naked _brat body_ – "I was – tired – "

"_Tired? TIRED?"_ Severus bellowed, fear finally coalescing like an overly large, seething ball of _bloody brat_ in his chest – _he could have PERISHED_ – "_Why were you_ TIRED? WHY DID YOU _STAY_ IN THE TUB – "

"It was _warm_," Potter was muttering – Merlin, the brat was surely not going to _weep_ – he'd _strangle_ him – "It got warm – it was cold – outside – I didn't want to _leave_ – " – he was still shaking with cold – coming from a hot – the boy was – bloody not _drying_ – _not moving_ –

"_DRY – YOURSELF – IDIOT BOY _– "

But Potter was just shaking and crying there – Severus wanted to _shake_ him so hard he'd shut _up_ and stop _shaking_ and get _up_ and _dry himself_ before he caught a _cold_ because he _bloody fell _ASLEEP _in a_ BATHTUB _with_ NO ONE AROUND BECAUSE IT _WAS WARM_ –

"I'm _sorry_ – "

Severus seized the towel, gritting his teeth in fury, easily hoisting the shaking, _weeping_ – like a bloody _girl_ – boy to his feet – of course the _idiot_ was too light – he didn't _eat_, did he, unless Severus shouted and threatened and why wasn't he _ceasing_ those painful, foolish, needless tears –

"_Potter_," Severus began, barely able to _speak_ between teeth that were gritted so _hard_ –

"_I'm sorry_ – "

Great Merlin – the boy _was_ weeping now, and guilt was digging hard fingers into Severus' panicking heart – he tried to rub some _sense_, some _sobriety_ into the boy with the towel, but somehow Harry was only slumping about and making things difficult because he was now suddenly almost Severus' height, and was drooping and not _standing still_ –

"Harry…" Severus felt indescribably ashamed of how hoarse his voice was now – if only the boy would stop _crying_ – "Please – stand _still_ – just _stand_, for Merlin's _sake_ – "

But Harry was only crying, making sounds that were not words, hands scrabbling hopelessly against Severus' robes – it was killing him, driving him mad, starting to trigger things he did _not_ want to see – smell – remember –

"_Harry_ – _please_ – " Severus could no longer care how he sounded – he needed to make him _stop_ – he abandoned all thoughts of drying the boy, concentrating on getting him back into the dungeon – _across the hall, thank _Merlin_ we thought to put his pallet in there_ – and found it was easier said than done, the very idea of levitating the hiccupping boy _anywhere_ making his alarmed father even more nauseous than he thought possible, because _Dumbledore_ had levitated him – that _night_ –

Somehow they crashed into the dungeon – it positively _stank_ of some disgusting flowery nonsense – _Lupin _absent_, damn him_ – and Severus made it to a chair, transfiguring it into something softer only just in time to awkwardly settle the rasping, coughing, naked boy into it.

Severus, his motions rapid from practice alone, extracted and enlarged his potions case, rifling it for some Calming Draught – he didn't _care_ if it made the boy cease to _breathe_, he only wanted him to _shut UP_ –

_Calm yourself! Calm YOURSELF, Severus – that's it – slow breaths_ –

He lowered the Calming Draught, forcing himself to set it on the – _filthy – will KILL LUPIN_ – table, before turning on the shaking flesh nearby.

The sight nearly blinded him, after the not-quite-tidy row of half-empty vials and open bottles. His son – _his son_ –

Severus somehow wrapped his damp arms around the shaking form, not quite registering how he got – not quite registering _anything_ –

Harry was so _thin_ – _so many bloody _scars_ and _burns_ and why can't I _kill_ Lucius THIS MOMENT or KILL HIS STUPID SON AND SHOW HIM HOW THIS **FEELS**_ –

The sobs did not lessen – they seemed to increase exponentially as Severus shakily stroked the slimy hair that was so like his own, until the frail body heaved with emotion, mumbling vaguely about _worthlessness_ and _being stupid_ and _not fighting hard enough_…

Severus tried not to think, tried not to do _anything_ but rub damp robe against damp, scarred skin and tell his son he was a bloody _fool_ if he slept in that bloody _tub_ again and that he needed to shut up and think about what his bloody _scar_ meant or Severus would crack his stubborn Gryffindor skull if he didn't dredge up some of that damned Gryffindor _pride_ right now because he was the only fool that _deserved_ to _have_ any in that cursed house.

Gradually his foolish brat _son_ stopped mumbling and started listening and _finally_ stopped _crying_. But Severus did not feel quite safe letting him go _now_ – he kept talking and talking about how he would force-feed Lupin aconite and stab him in his idiot Gryffindor head with a handy silver knife he always carried on long journeys. And before long Harry had fallen silent, and was really relaxing in his arms, and chuckling sadly at his poisonous and varied death threats toward the cursed bastard of a Remus Lupin. Severus finally ceased to speak, just letting himself drag his naked, heavily breathing son into his lap and _holding_ the boy, not really caring if Harry decided to ridicule him for this – later.

It was strange – satisfying in a slightly pathetic way, running fingers through his son's drying, dirty hair, feeling the sheer amount of bone and weak muscle sprawling awkwardly all over him, eyes avoiding the too-pink scars on the boy's shoulder and back, arm smarting slightly from the convulsive, trembling grip Harry refused to lighten or lessen in any way.

Then the moment had passed, and Harry was staggering off his lap. Severus, though weary from the sudden ordeal, had strength and wits enough to seize his brat before the boy could really _injure_ himself on the cold stone floor.

"Let go – I'm – "

"Don't you _dare_ pretend you are _fine_, Potter," Severus cut in irritably. "Don't even _think_ it, understand?" It was telling that the boy did not make a concentrated effort to scowl back – he simply leaned on his father, steadily pushing himself until he reached the messy pallet. He half-fell, half-collapsed onto it, forcing Severus to lever the rest of his bony body onto the bed, unable to avert his eyes _now_ from his son's body.

It was not as hard to see the scars now – as the _brat_ had finally shut up. Severus spelled the boy completely dry before forcing his unwilling limbs under the covers, uttering a spell to clean his – _filthy_ – hair before properly situating the pillow underneath the slightly larger head. Harry closed his eyes almost immediately, breathing heavily as Severus checked his body – _just in case_ – for any unseen injuries, his wand jerking slightly through the practiced motions of the diagnosis spell. Just as he set for the messy table, a weak, oddly recognisable voice sounded behind.

"Severus…I'm sorry…"

Unable to speak, the spy turned on his son, and found he could not resist the irresistible urge to embrace him again. Harry seemed to weakly curl into it, making Severus gulp with the raging emotion that had, only minutes before, threatened to choke him with fear. He squeezed his son again, hard, as he sensed him about to speak, then avoided those dark green eyes – they'd gotten darker, if possible – as he rose from the bed.

He could feel Harry's eyes on him as he tidied the room, heating up some of the remaining Strengthening Solution with a few extra ingredients – some of the burnwort, which he dashed out to retrieve, firmly closing the back door on his return. By the time he'd returned, Iona had somehow gotten free of her box and was now slithering towards his son's bed, despite the obstacles in front of her. In a fit of what the tired spy would remember later as madness, Severus none-too-gently picked the rapidly growing snake up and tossed it into Harry's bed, correctly surmising that she – _probably_ – wouldn't bite his son.

The potion was soon finished, and Harry, for perhaps the first time since his awakening nearly two weeks before, did not complain or flinch from the warm vial of viscous liquid, downing it with a speed and calm that surprised his father.

Severus discovered why, soon enough.

"When's my training going to start?" Harry began, his voice slightly shaky. Severus hazarded a look at the boy, wondering if he would _ever_ be without a question, without a demand, without a thing to _say_…Wishing, hard, for the old, relatively _less_ talkative Harry Potter, Severus answered his son after only a few moments of thought.

"Certainly not _today_, Potter," he sneered, turning to very visibly eye his son's frail form up and down. "You look about as weak as a _flobberworm_, for Merlin's sake – we'll have to start another day." _Thanks to your falling asleep alone in a bloody bathtub_, Severus finished for himself, not having the heart – _no_, not _bothering_ to voice what his imbecile of a son must surely be thinking. Perhaps a little _guilt_ would keep him from dozing off in warm water next time –

"Well, maybe I can't start today," Potter admitted, shocking his father with his complicity. "But you _can_ tell me what we're going to do in training, can't you…?"

Severus found himself marvelling at his son's resilience – the boy's impudence truly knew no _bounds_ –

"Potter," Severus enunciated clearly, the last of his good mood tearing away, "if _you think_ – "

"Severus – _please_ – "

Snape stopped short at the emotion in that tone, allowing himself a good, long look at the boy's shuttered, pale face. So like his own, now – the patchy skin tone almost disappeared, leaving mostly wan, scarred tissue behind…

"Please." Harry looked down at the snake in his lap, hard, his face tightening oddly – with – with something that looked too much like despair.

Severus sighed.

_My son_…

"Oh, _all right_," he muttered, disgusted at his own previous show of sentimentality. At least, talking would keep the blasted boy from crying _again_, which was what that pale face, immobilised in the vulnerable act of biting its lip, looked very close to doing. Severus sighed again, not wanting, just now, to think of the pain hidden beneath this boy's foolish, brittle exterior.

He, too, wanted to hear himself speak, about mundane things like training and duelling and remoulding this sad shell of a young man into a Snape. So he began.

"The first thing, of course, will be to get your strength back to normal," he began, cringing inwardly at the odd quality of his voice. Severus cleared his throat sharply, now moving to sit by his son. "At the same time, you will learn, perhaps the most important thing _you_ can use, while under disguise…" Harry straightened a little, obviously interested, "…that is, the use of _words_…"

"What?" Severus decided that the decision to tell Harry of his upcoming ordeal was not such a bad one at all – he was weaker, less likely to argue, which was everlastingly refreshing – "That doesn't make sense…"

"Words are the most potent weapon you will ever need," Severus found himself leaning slightly forward, eager to impart the salient point – "With them, you can distract an enemy, deceive a friend, fool an entire school…" _Thank Merlin – is that _understanding_ I can see on his face…?_

"Mmm." Harry shifted interestedly, blinking hard. Yes, Severus could see – perhaps not _understanding_ – a glimmer of agreement cross the boy's face.

"You will learn to control your words, control your body, control your every expression," Severus continued, eyeing the boy again. "You will learn how to disguise your British accent somewhat – " a look of puzzlement made itself known on his son's face, " – as you are _not_ a native. You are Tobias Snape, and you are Romanian – raised to read, write and speak English, as any foreign Snape with ambition, and the only reason your accent is not perfect," Severus smirked, "is because you fancy it makes you sound…attractive." To his surprise, a similar smirk coalesced onto Harry's face as he cut in.

"You make me sound like some idiot with less than half a brain…I almost hate _Tobias_ already – " the boy stroked the dark snake that was slowly falling asleep curled about his upper arm, appearing to think hard. "So – that makes him someone a bit like – maybe – Viktor Krum, only _liking_ the fact that he's famous…?"

"Precisely," Severus crossed his legs, feeling rather pleased with himself. "Tobias would _certainly_ sneer at you for not enjoying your fame, and would no more think of _not_ using it than _you_ would think of putting an end to one of your little Gryffindor friends…"

The familiar features across from him hardened – _interesting_ – _he doesn't wish to speak of them_…Severus' eyes narrowed slightly as he continued, careful to appear oblivious to his son's slight change of mood. He could hardly complain, could he – this had been one of the aspects of the plan that he had worried about in detail –

"For the purposes of your training, the Headmaster will aid me in setting up a Portkey that I will make use of in the evenings. I will return this very evening, with the necessary tools to help you commit your new background to memory as soon as possible – " Harry grimaced, " – as well as your wand, which should be ready for use in a week." At that, Harry's sharp features shifted into a rather more agreeable arrangement, which Severus found rather fascinating – it really was odd, seeing that much larger nose twitch just so –

"What?" Harry shifted tersely on his pallet, rearranging his long, thin legs nervously. Severus shook his head, not quite ready to admit his near-constant perusal of his son's face and frame.

Before he could add anything more, the dungeon door slammed open, to reveal, for Severus, the hour's object of wrath.

_Lupin_.

"_Severus_ – thank _Merlin_ – " Lupin was gasping, dishevelled.

Only _proper_, the stupid bastard – he'd soon become even _more_ dishevelled, if Severus had any say in the matter –

"So glad you _finally_ decide to show up, _Lupin_," Severus found himself snarling, in opposition to the even tone he'd desired to _begin_ with, but that could not be helped – "Back for _tea_? Went out for a _stroll_, leaving Potter to _drown_ himself in that cursed tub – "

"It's not _like_ that – just _listen_, please – "

"No, _you_ listen – you snivelling excuse for a _wizard_," Severus spat back, rising slowly, menacingly, to his feet. "You _left_ my _son_ – "

"You won't even _listen_ to why I left – "

" – asleep in a _fucking bathtub_ – "

"He was _not_ _asleep_ when I _left_ – "

"It's true," Harry suddenly interrupted, distracting Severus from his steady, vitriolic build-up of insults. "I fell asleep _after_ – "

"_And that makes it RIGHT?"_ his father shouted back, unable to help himself, unable to rid himself of the memory of Harry sliding weakly into the water –

"There was an urgent _message_, Severus – my Order Medallion was – "

"Contrary to what _you_ may _think_," Severus ground out, coldly, "I could not care _less_ if your bloody Medallion _tap-danced_ into your _arse_, _Lupin_ – " He bore down on the werewolf, deliberately prodding at him, _hard_ – " – what _matters_ is that _you_ _LEFT_ _him_ – "

"_There was an ATTACK, you slimy bastard_ – "

"That's _enough_!"

Both men took shuddering breaths, eyeing other angrily. Harry sighed in frustration, garnering their attention as he seemed to slump back against the headboard.

"Just _stop_," was all the _brat_ deemed worthy to offer. Severus started to speak around gritted teeth, but was cut off by his odiously sensitive son – "Don't – just stop. _Please!"_ Harry's eyes found him, angry yet _again_ – "He told me he'd be back, Severus – he tried to make me get out of the tub…" he eyed the still-trembling Lupin beside his father, with something – _great _Merlin_ – that looks like _apology – "…the point I'm trying to make," Harry gulped, "is that it's _my_ fault I fell asleep in the bath. Not his."

Severus took a deep breath, thinking hard. _It's an apology. From _him –

"I shouldn't have given up, though," Lupin was saying, quietly moving closer to the boy. Severus suppressed the urge to snort – _pathetic, still trying to take the blame – he obviously has no _idea_ how to _discipline_ the boy_…

But, on opening his mouth to _tell_ Lupin so, Severus found that he had not the heart. _Surely _drowning_ is discipline enough_ –

_Merlin_, he _was_ getting soft.

Dis_gustingly_ so.

Yet, as Severus grudgingly regained his chair and listened stonily to Remus' hushed, weary account of the attack he'd hurried to – a failed attempt on St. Mungo's, thankfully – he found that he did not really _mind_ as much as he would have, a month or two ago.

Severus crossed and re-crossed his legs absently, observing his tired son as Lupin eventually succumbed to the weariness that weighed upon him – on the floor, with little but a hasty, amplified Cushioning Charm that Severus himself had used on occasion. He knew he'd eventually have to broach the subject of Harry's paralysing panic – no, _they_, as Lupin and Dumbledore were _certainly_ going to be present to _pitch in_ to _that_ conversation – but, right now, as he forced the boy to drink some Conjured green tea, he could nearly not help continuing to talk of teaching Harry to Apparate, among other things. It distracted the boy from scratching at his scars, for one thing.

And, as much as Severus would never admit it, it was an act of mercy to let Harry enthuse about his training. It stopped him from remembering his captivity – if only for a little while.

Severus rose from his seat only once his son was asleep, feeling, for once, that he had done well with Harry.

Perhaps this good fortune of his, of theirs would continue. Severus smiled bitterly to himself as he exchanged what he'd come to think of as Harry's dungeon for the one adjoining it, using what was left of his energy to transfigure a pallet similar to Harry's.

_Perhaps, indeed_.

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_A/N: Another chapter that gave me the heebie-jeebies. One that will definitely be edited or changed if I repost or redo this story, preferably after someone knowledgeable tells me if it's too soppy or not._

_Do not be alarmed, people – I still have a plan, though this chapter came out of the (outlined) blue, for me. And, up next – we return to Harry's POV in the next chapter, in which Severus rants and Harry is privately rather amused, and then vice versa. No idea what to name it in the least, of course._

_Generalish review responses – _

_It should probably be a crime how much I enjoy writing Angry!Harry goodness. I couldn't resist having him take a nasty shot at Remus, who is usually spared from Fanon Angry!Harry's rants. Because, really, why should we play favourites?_

_I hope Harry makes a convincing Snape. I really, really do._

_Dumbledore is maddening sometimes, isn't he? You do wonder whether he's cracked sometimes, even in the books. I mean, _Lockhart_. Shakes head_

_I like my angst bittersweet, as you all are probably learning. It's not always constant wailing and why-oh-why-am-I-alive's – it's usually just awkward and scary and funny in a morbid way. Especially for someone like Snape – he's just too sarcastic to really angst properly, for me._

_And as for Harry's state of (evil) mind, you'll just have to trust me. Which translates as HA HA FOOLED YOU INTO READING EVIL!HARRY. Not._

_I make no promises concerning the next chapter, for now - school is really heating up just now, so it might take a week to really put it together properly.

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	8. Chapter 8: Scheming Slytherins

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_A/N: Wayhey! JKR owns everything you recognise, and all I'm getting out of this is employment for my itching fingers and brain and the reviews and respect of you lovely readers. Cheers! Thank you! Thank you!_

_And here we are, spying on Harry again. Tut, tut, tut. He's gone back to his more comfortable state, I see – angry, but resigned. Enjoy the chapter, people. _

_Enjoy it. It might be your last. Dun dun _dun_…Not. Again._

_Sorry – I keep doing this, don't I?_

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**Chapter 8: Scheming Slytherins**

Harry scowled at the infuriating lump of golem smouldering teasingly in front of him. He rose from his slightly uncomfortable crouch in the close, warm dungeon, eyeing the infuriating, vaguely human-shaped figure perched awkwardly on a rickety chair. Severus had left it behind the previous night after a running him through a gruelling set of mind-numbing shielding drills, sneering that if he'd come along _at all_ in the past week, he should be able to destroy the stuffed caricature of a human body.

Harry took deep breaths, muttering obscene things under his breath. He'd gotten better at _that_, at least – if nothing _else_.

Well, nothing else in _Severus'_ opinion. Harry rolled his eyes, wishing for what he thought was absolutely the _hundredth_ time that his damned _father_ would just tell him straight out how he was doing.

Harry gave himself a little shake, setting his shoulders – one last try wouldn't do any harm –

"_Adnitor golem ruo_," he pronounced firmly, desperation leaking into his changed, lower tone as the magic seemed to seep out of him, reaching malevolently for the damned thing – he only hoped he'd _used_ the _right_ variation – the _Adnitor_ was stupid like that, as powerful as it was – "_Fuck_ – fucking _hell_ – "

The golem was unharmed, if further smudged by the draining Manipulation Charm. Harry continued to swear, combining magical objects and famous magical figures and dousing them liberally with every obscene thing he could think of, resisting, all the while, the urge to go over and just _kick_ the damn thing, as it could probably be cursed –

_Cursed_.

"Oh _god_ I'm stupid – _Narrare anathema_…" Harry's voice trailed off hopefully, for a moment, waiting for the object to glow slightly, and begin to emit suggestions of the possible curses or hexes that might be – nothing.

_Nothing_.

"Merlin's _arse_ on a fucking _stick_ – "

Feeling red in the face, the tall teen gave the offending object one last, slightly drawn-out glare before heading for the door. He opened it carefully – the heavy doors down here all boasted a special technique, and he had no inclination to repeat the highly embarrassing event of four days ago, when Severus had Portkeyed in at the usual time only to find Harry twitching painfully on the floor, having strained almost every muscle in his back trying to shift the bathroom door.

Harry felt himself grow hotter, though he knew it – thank _Merlin_ – didn't show as easily anymore. It had been horrible sitting through the ensuing speech from his livid father, who, it turned out, had recently acquired the ability to make his unwilling son feel guilty for the smallest things since what Harry termed as the "Tub Incident".

And, as usual, his father knew it – and used it against him in every way possible.

Harry, disgruntled, fumbled with his worn trousers – _my father's, just like _everything_ here_ – vaguely meaning to take the piss he'd been wanting to ever since he'd tried throwing three high-magnitude Severing Charms at the golem in a row. He scowled at the toilet bowl, feeling hard done by – he'd somehow managed to _burn_ himself that time –

The toilet grudgingly flushed itself as Harry tucked himself away, not really wanting to look at – himself – in detail. He _knew_ he'd changed down there – he wasn't _stupid_ – but did _not_ want to deal with it, not now, not with the still-lingering memory of – _hands_ – down there. Hands that had not been his own –

_Stop that_.

He'd become practiced at fending off the unwanted recollections – something he was exceedingly grateful for. With all the books and spells Severus was practically forcing down his throat, he'd decided to dismiss the fear for now, to just _forget_ for now.

_I_, Harry thought resentfully, washing his thin hands, _have_ quite_ enough to be going on with, just now_.

And he did, _honestly_.

For one, there was the fact that the Enchantment Strengthener had _finally_ worn off the day after he'd nearly drowned himself in this very dungeon. Harry winced, remembering the pure panic – the pure _despair_ – then shut it away, choosing, instead, to examine his new face in the cracked, wheezing mirror once again.

It wasn't that he hadn't _wanted_ the stupid potion to wear off – it _had_ been slowing down the healing of his superficial magical scars – but it just felt odd without it. As if something had stopped pulsing away at him, sharing some undefined space within his thin, weak body. Harry impatiently shook his wet hands, muttering a quick drying spell without even thinking to reach for the temporary wand, before he remembered what he was _doing_.

His shoulders sank down slightly, because it was things like _that_ – being able to do more wandless magic than before, being able to put just a little more into his spells, being able to attempt harder ones and learn them faster than he'd thought…Harry sighed, rolling his eyes at himself. _Trust _me_ to dislike being _more_ powerful_ –

The eyes – he'd just – that was new, rolling his eyes like _that_ –

He did it again, just to catalogue the expression, like Severus had been incessantly reminding him to do all week – there. And again, because it was disconcerting – he actually looked – well – _interesting_, somehow, doing that. Harry repeated the action slowly, trying to watch the way his thickened eyebrows lifted slightly with the movement – the way his mouth sort of twitched at the end. It was really very – Harry narrowed his eyes at himself in the mirror, and was startled to see the same – correlation – it was just –

He looked good.

Harry licked his lips nervously, now used to repeating the action with thinner, somehow more mobile appendages. It was a little off-putting, to be quite frank – he'd always thought he looked _okay_, but not good, not like this. Not, Harry curled a lip disdainfully, _Roger Davies_ good.

God, that looked – _good_ – as well. Harry stared at himself, at the stranger in the mirror that would be known to everyone as Tobias Snape, and decided to force the issue, just this once.

_I can do this – evaluate, like Severus said_…

Right. Where to begin – Harry looked downwards, at the safest thing he could think of.

Well, his hands were larger, that was one thing. He inspected them, a little fondly – he'd gotten used to hiding and using them at Hogwarts just before – that. Well, that was one thing – _oh, and my wrists – a bit thinner_ –

It went on for a while, with Harry turning this way and that, checking angles with a fastidiousness he'd not used since the months of concealment at Hogwarts. All in all, it wasn't _that_ different, he decided. Just that his skin was much paler, and that the angles of his face and body had changed. It was interesting how so few changes made him look so _different_ – the sharp eyed, sharp-featured boy in the mirror looked _nothing_ like Harry Potter.

He looked, rather, very much like a young Professor Snape. With softer, oddly diminished features, and an odd connectedness that reconciled the nose – _God, I'll _never_ get used to it_ – with the rest of the face. It all fit, somehow – the slightly hooded, darker green eyes, the thinner lips, the sharper features, the more menacing brow, the flatter, longer hair – even the wide shoulders and added height seemed to fit, even though Harry knew he was still clumsy and unused to the new legs.

Harry straightened slightly, now actually admiring his new profile. As irritating as having that _nose_ was, he _was_ taller (even though he strongly suspected Severus had slipped him something to make him grow an inch or two extra at some point before this week), and the whole effect was a bit more striking.

_Very striking, indeed_, Harry thought, giving himself an experimental sneer – they worked for him now, and worked well – _very Tobias Snape_...

He gave his new face a final splash before exiting the dungeon bathroom, ignoring the delayed comments of the mirror, which promised rather sleepily that it would actually _stay awake_ enough to talk the next time. Harry snorted, ignoring the slight embarrassment over what he'd just admitted to himself – what he'd, essentially just been _doing_.

Eyeing himself up in a bloody _mirror_, for Merlin's sake –

_Where have you been?_ demanded a familiar, irritated tone from the tangled covers on his pallet. Harry smiled almost involuntarily – resisted the urge to check what it looked like – then moved to pick up the slightly sleepy black snake from the unmade bed.

_Grooming myself_, Harry answered, before quite thinking it through. Iona did not seem to notice his embarrassment – or, what was more likely, she didn't care – as she slid happily up through his sleeve and onto his left arm, which she wound about with every opportunity nowadays.

_Good_. The answer was said in such a firm tone of approval that Harry could not keep back a laugh – a rather lower one than he was used to, now – she sounded so _satisfied_, as if _she'd_ suggested he prance about in front of the old mirror…

Iona simply settled her head somewhere in the region of his armpit – very disconcerting, that, when he wasn't expecting that – and went into a tightly coiled doze. After knocking about the messy dungeon for a bit, Harry decided to have one more go at the golem – he had some time, before his dad – _father – **father**, I mean – Severus would kill me if he knew I called him that_ –

And, as Harry wrestled his way back into what passed as a duelling room, he smiled, wondering what Severus Snape would _do_, exactly, if he _did_ call him that.

_Maybe I'll find out_…Harry's thin lips spread into an evil smile – the very one Snape had been drilling and drilling him on, yesterday evening, when he hadn't had the energy left to rail at his – his new mentor.

_Right_, Harry shook himself slightly, eyeing the golem determinedly once more._ Back to work _– "_Flaminis!"_

And, as the familiar feeling spread through his right arm, the familiar light of the Blasting Curse poured from the end of the wand in his hand, seeming to weave into the battered golem

"A modified Blasting Curse, Potter?" Harry stopped short, anger simmering beneath his skin – the bloody _thing_ was still intact – and looked round to see the newcomer, though he knew exactly who it would be.

Snape, sneering disdainfully. As usual. Harry sneered back, masking his irritation at being surprised so easily. He'd start harping on that any minute now –

"Do you listen to _nothing_, Potter?" Snape spat, striding over as the dungeon door slid shut behind him. Not really wanting to listen right now – he knew this _useless child_ drill by heart, now – Harry simply fired off a Disarming Jinx, smirking at the caught-out expression on his father's face. Severus blocked the attack almost negligently, black eyes narrowing as he sent off his reply, turning out the lights in one smooth motion.

"_Nox. Abdere artus!"_ Harry ducked the arcing purple fingers of the Destabilisation Hex, briefly incanting a _Stabilis_ Charm over his body just in case – "_Flaminis!"_ Harry incanted a modified _Protego_ in return, but it wasn't enough – he was pushed slowly back into the smouldering golem, which immediately seemed to jump to life, seizing hold of his waist.

"_Fuck_ – _Stupefy!"_ Might not work, but –

"_Protego_. Didn't check for a Charm, did you boy?" Severus sneered, even as Harry twisted round in the harsh grip of the – _damn it_ – charmed golem, only just managing to cast an Absorption Shield. The magic faltered for a bit, as it always did with his temporary wand, then broke down, flooding back in Snape's direction.

"_Protego_. Your reflected Stunning Spell didn't even _dent_ my shield, Potter – "

"_Stupefy!"_ The golem's stubby arms were still winched tight about Harry's waist, but he'd be _damned_ if he'd stand there and listen to his _teacher_ whinge –

"_Protego_. Pathetic, Potter." Snape's eyes, coming closer, seemed to take on that glittering determination his son had come to know very intimately in the past week. _It means_, Harry thought, groaning inwardly, _that I'll be trying to Stun him for an _hour _in the dark – buggering hell_ – "Again!"

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Protego_ – almost _too_ easy – "

"_STUPEFY!"_ Power roared out of Harry, seeming to flow off of his arm like fiery water, mingling with the bright red of the Stunning Spell that emerged from the temporary wand. Snape had only time enough to look highly interested before the spell hit him, tearing down his weak shield and crumpling him to the ground even as it lit his pale features with an eerie glow, before Harry could even try to apologise – warn him or something –

The stupid golem's arms fell from him, and Harry was soon at his father's side, panting out the requisite spell – "_Ennervate_ – "

Harry's heart stilled for a long moment, as he waited for the bastard to _stir_ already –

" – can't even spell up a decent Cushioning Charm, can you?"

– and began to beat again. But the door was closing – _again_ – Harry spun for the door, blasting at the intruder without a thought – "_Flaminis! Expelliarmus_ – "

"_Merlin_, Harry – it's only _me_ – " And it looked to be – Remus' haggard features were lit up with the light of a mild Absorption shield that mostly deflected the force of the Blasting Curse. But still –

"Who's Iona?"

"Your very poisonous adder, Harry." Remus smiled a little, looking around the darkened room. "How are you – "

"What the _hell_ do you think you are doing here, Lupin?" came the growl from between them. Harry found himself hard pressed to hide a smile – Severus was so _predictable_ around Remus sometimes…but, really, he wanted to find out what Charm his father had used on the golem, and the impending series of sniping was best headed off as soon as possible.

"He just came in a minute ago – shall I try ag- "

"_No_, you shall _not_ try again, Potter – " shot back the lump of straining spy before him. Harry sighed exasperatedly – he'd asked for a stronger Stunner, and he'd _gotten_ one –

"This is _ridiculous_, fighting in the dark - _lumos_ – " Light filled the large, duelling room – _dungeon _– which was empty but for a small desk and chairs and the battered, seemingly lifeless golem in one of the chairs.

"What are you – " Snape began, even as Harry knelt carefully beside him – he still wasn't getting up, and that couldn't be good –

"Turning on the _lights_, for Merlin's sake…" Remus' worried voice trailed over as he, too, approached the black-clad man crumpled on the floor.

"You're all right, aren't you…?" Harry asked, discretely casting the only notification charm he knew well – good, nothing seemed to be broken – as his father's unfocused stare fell on him.

"Well enough that you can put away that mawkish charm you just cast, Potter." Severus' harsh features took on a look of determination as he forced himself into a sitting position. Harry rose slowly to his feet, motioning at Remus to back off. It never did his disgruntled father any good to hover over him –

"He'll be all right," he stated decisively, giving Remus a pointed look. Thankfully he got the hint – he was dense around Harry that way, sometimes. Switching his green gaze back to Severus' pale, slightly stretched features, Harry thought he saw something like a flicker of – _approval_? "What charm did you use on the golem, Professor?" At the snort he got in reply, he shrugged his slim shoulders, slinking back to the centre of the room like he'd learned to, under duress. "Thought I'd _try_, anyway. What's on the menu tonight?"

"I believe," Snape ground out, eyeing Remus' slightly amused expression, "that _that_ concludes combat training for the evening, Potter…" he sluggishly reached for his wand, "…make yourself _useful_, for once, and fetch something to drink. Then, if you are willing – " it was always fascinating how Snape could make a suggestion into a thinly veiled threat – " – we will begin your lessons in the Romanian language."

Harry tried not to groan as he left, making sure he opened the door gently, as it had a nasty habit of swinging violently back if you opened it too far. He'd _seen_ that look Severus had given Remus – he _knew_ it meant there was something they wanted to talk about without having him around. Rolling his eyes, he ducked into his dungeon and rooted around for glasses before giving up and Summoning them – wandlessly, because the Summoning Charm almost _never_ worked for him with this wand – and, after spontaneously Conjuring them full of pumpkin juice, changing the juice to water.

Severus had nearly yelled himself hoarse the _last_ time Harry had absently Conjured himself a glass of something to drink, so this time, he decided he'd be subtle about it.

A hasty wipe later, the rather battered tray was following him out of the dungeon, carrying the three glasses instead of the potions it had bravely supported for the last few weeks.

"…so _that_ raid's pushed off 'til the thirty-first, because we can't _possibly_ deal with it now that – oh, here's Harry – " Remus smoothly changed the topic as Harry sidled into the duelling dungeon, making him stop in irritation. He really hated the way they – _ow_ –

Harry whipped round, scowling at the stupid tray – it had just bumped him in the _back_, in a rather sore spot from the golem's maliciously lumpy grip. He sent it towards the small desk in the corner, at which Severus had laid out a disheartening amount of textbooks and odd-looking devices, only just remembering to use the wand in his hand. It was enough to catch his father's notice, however, and Severus' eyes narrowed, roving over the floating – well, non-floating, now – tray.

Remus, sensing the tension, gently Summoned one of the three glasses despite the fact that he was near enough to take one off the tray. Harry fidgeted, pulling at his left sleeve unconsciously as Severus took a glass as well. He was well aware he wasn't supposed to tax himself by using wandless magic, but what was he supposed to _do_ when things didn't _work_ with his new –

_What is wrong? Why are you twitching?_

Harry, Remus and Severus all jerked as Iona announced her wakefulness with a bout of grumpy hissing. Harry looked down at his sleeve, wondering how on _earth_ he'd managed to forget about the dark snake up his sleeve, which rippled abnormally with the irritated activity of Iona.

_Stop that, Iona_, he said hastily, trying not to wriggle more as she shot up into the back of his worn shirt. Remus was backing carefully away, glass all but forgotten in his hand, and Severus' eyes were wide with fear and irritation – or, at least, he thought so –

_You woke me up_, Iona snapped, poking her head out of the neck of his shirt. _Can you not stop twitching?_

"Potter," came the familiar tone from before him, tight with what Harry had come to know intimately over the last few days – anger. "This water is cold."

"_What?"_ Harry could feel the bewilderment sweeping discreetly over his face as he tried to take careful hold of Iona's head or neck so he could get her _out_ – _What on earth does cold water have to do with Iona not being able to _stay still_ long enough for me to get her out of my_ –

"You Conjured it, didn't you – despite all I have _said_ on the subject – " Severus rose from his seat at the table, thumping a large textbook shut as he moved to tower over Harry, which, he resentfully thought, _shouldn't_ have been _possible_ by now – "And what on _earth_ did you think you were _doing_, duelling with a _poisonous adder_ up your _sleeve_?"

"I forgot she was there, honestly – "

"Pray tell me _how_," Snape sneered, dark eyes narrowing down at his still fidgeting son, "you managed to _forget_ there was a living creature wound around your arm, while – "

"Look, it didn't feel like she was there, all right? Not until she moved, anyway…" Harry finally caught hold of Iona's neck – she was everlastingly hard to get hold of, sometimes, as smooth as her scales were – "_Right_ – there we go – " Avoiding his bristling father's eyes, Harry set his irritated companion on the table as gently as possible, trying not to disturb the –

"And just _when_ were you planning to inform us, Potter?"

"You're acting as if I _knew_, which I _didn't_ – "

"How are you to remain safe in Slytherin if you cannot _remember_ what is _on your person_ at _all times?"_ Snape ground out, stepping closer to Harry. Iona hissed violently from the table, causing both men to still immediately. "Call off your _pet_, for Merlin's _sake_ – "

"Iona's not a _pet_, and she'll calm down just _fine_ if you _step back_ and stop acting like you want to _kill_ me, _dad_," Harry spat back in reply, relishing the angry colour seeping into his _dad's_ face as he grudgingly complied. "I'll be just _fine_ in Slytherin, thank you – more bored than anything else, probably – "

"Potter, if _you think_ – "

"Severus, Harry, _please_," Remus cut in from behind. Harry jerked in surprise, causing Iona to mutter something about 'twitchy human fools' – he'd forgotten Remus was _there_ at all – "Look, I came here to tell you about the rumours your – ah – father," he shot a nervous glance at the seething man, "has spread about your arrival at Hogwarts during the Easter holidays – that they've taken hold, and – "

"_Easter hols?_" Harry could barely keep from shouting – for god's _sake_, that was _ages_ away – _you'd think he was teaching me how to be a bloody _Auror_, with all that time_ – "What the _hell_ will take you more than a bloody month to teach me? It's not like I'm going to be doing anything _useful_," he lowered his tone, glaring at his now rather weary father – that was just a fucking front, he knew Severus didn't want to _talk_ about it – probably something _Dumbledore_ taught him, _how-to-act-like-you're-tired-and-don't-want-to-talk-to-Harry_ – "Go on – _tell me_ – tell me you can't just teach me half this shit in Hogwarts anyway – "

"You seem to have forgotten that I am supposed to _disapprove_ of you, _Tobias_," Severus sneered, eyes shuttered – _oh, _now_ he Occludes_ – "It would be _unwise_ to teach you more than is necessary as an apprentice at Hogwarts, you _can_ grasp that, can't you?"

"You drop that tone, _now_," Harry hissed, anger pooling like a hot weight inside his chest. "I know _perfectly well_ that you can't appear to like me, Severus. Whose fault is _that_, anyway?"

"I told him what was _necessary_ – "

"Oh, I'm not blaming _you_," Harry ground out, his hands curling into fists as sharp-edged memories ran through his mind, almost all of them containing blond hair and pale fingers and that _bastard's_ eyes –

"You must put aside your thirst for vengeance if you want to _survive_ the rest of this year, Potter," Snape ventured uncertainly, something like trepidation appearing on his face. Harry really didn't care – all he could think of was strangling that blond man, _slowly_, over and over again, until he begged –

"Add something to those rumours, _father_," he said simply, ignoring the look of consternation on Remus' face at his tone – "Tell them I'm slightly…_off_. That way no one will question the fact that I can't stand to have Draco Malfoy breathing down my neck – "

"Did you hear _nothing_ I _said_?"

"You don't _get it_, do you?" Harry shouted back, trying, now, to keep a handle on the energy pulsing within him, longing to reach out, to _destroy_ – "I'm going to _kill_ him, and that's _that_."

"_Harry_ – " Alarm seemed to practically _pour_ from the man behind him, but Harry felt cold to it – untouched by it. Where had the alarm _been_ when Lucius Malfoy had grunted over him in that bloody cell, anyway?

"_Stay _out of this, Remus – "

"That is _enough_, Potter – "

"Oh _fuck off_, Severus – if I didn't know any better, I'd think you wanted dear old Lucius to _remain_ on this earth a bit longer than _I_ do – "

"Don't _speak_ to him like that, Harry – "

"_Stay the _FUCK out of it – this doesn't _concern_ you any more than it concerns him. It's between _Lucius_ and _me_, understand?" Harry could feel the reprimand coming, could feel his father practically _bursting_ to feed him one of those stale platitudes of Dumbledore's, wrapped up in heavy sarcasm. He wouldn't _stand_ there and listen to one more – "And stuff whatever fucking moral you're about to toss at me, Severus – you _know_ I'm destined to be a killer anyway – why not do the world a _favour_ and cull the herd some, along the way? Why the hell _not_, especially if one of the poor sods that meets an end by way of _me_ is Lucius Malfoy?"

"Potter – "

"I asked you a _question_, _father_. Do me a favour and _answer_ it, for once."

"How do you think the _Dark Lord_ became what he _is_, Potter?" Severus shouted at him. "_Retribution_. It started with _retribution_ for him," Severus spat, features constricted with anger and remorse, "as it did for _me_."

Harry stood there, stunned, not heeding the agitated hissing of Iona nearby, or the rapid breathing of Remus from behind him. That _his own father_ would continue to _think_ such a thing – that he could be like _Voldemort_ –

"Harry, all that he means is – " Remus' desperate tone came from behind him. Harry turned on him – how _dare_ he try to explain this away –

"Don't go putting words in his mouth, Remus – let him _finish_." Harry stepped closer to his agitated father, using every inch of his new height and magic, wanting desperately to prove something – _anything_ – "You have this _theory_, don't you – about how I'll be the new Dark Lord if I off Malfoy senior – "

"I said _no such thing_," Snape snarled back, crossing his arms, seeming undaunted by his son's rage. "I merely warn you of what path you point yourself towards in your hate for his family – "

"Don't even _think_ of the word 'forgive', Severus. Don't think it. Don't say it – just _don't_. I'm done talking about Lucius Malfoy for the day – now," Harry spun into one of the empty chairs by the desk, gathering Iona into his lap as he went, "about this _training_…"

Severus' eye held his own for a long moment, then fell to the pile of unopened books on the desk, to which he stiffly carried himself. Harry felt a surge of reckless triumph – god, he'd _done_ it, stopped Severus from harping incessantly about his fucking _choices_. He suppressed a snort as he saw his father exchanging a covert look with a blank-looking Remus, and decided to plunge ahead while the going was good.

Or, at least, while they were both off base, and would actually _listen_ to him –

"I had an idea," Harry began, stroking Iona's dark head softly as he felt the dark gaze of his father cross his form. It was a bit silly, he knew, but, by _Merlin_, if they thought he'd just sit around at Hogwarts twiddling his thumbs as a ceremonial 'member' of the Order, they were wrong – "I thought of a way to help the Order while I'm in Hogwarts again, and – "

"You will be helping the Order in the final strike, Potter – I find it difficult to envision any other way – " Severus began irritably, but Harry cut him off, as quickly as possible –

"Remus, how did you find out if the school believes the story of Severus' nephew arriving soon?" Remus started a little, choking on the rest of his water as Harry addressed him directly and grimacing predictably as he called his father by his first name. Harry sneered almost unconsciously – it was really sad, sometimes, how he wouldn't just _accept_ that he'd changed –

"I talked to some of the Professors, as well as Ron and Hermione, Harry," Remus said, hesitating slightly at those two names. Harry willed himself not to stiffen, not to let the blazing injustice of the whole fucking _situation_ boil up in any way –

_Relax – think of the idea_ –

"What if you could speak to someone favourable to our cause…who watched the reactions of not just one or two of the Houses, but all of them, Slytherin included?" Harry kept his face straight as both of the men narrowed their eyes thoughtfully. They'd understand soon enough –

"In other words," Snape said disdainfully, belying the intense curiosity on his face, "you believe you can spy on the school for us – to, in effect, take over one of _my_ functions."

"Oh, come on, father," Harry said, hiding his glee at his father's flinch, "I'm not saying that, and you _know_ it – as a student, I'll – "

"As an _apprentice_ – "

"As an _apprentice_ that lives and eats with the most influential students of Slytherin, I'll be able to find out a few things you can't, is all I'm saying," Harry acquiesced, leaning back slightly. _At least they're not _laughing_ at me_ – "Seriously, think it through – neither you, nor the Professors, nor Dumbledore," he ignored the look Remus gave him, "nor Ron, nor Hermione is in Slytherin house, or is _close_ to anyone in Slytherin house that will _tell_ them more than they'd tell a friend."

"And naturally _you_ know everything there is to know about befriending Slytherins – "

"Never said I was an _expert_ – just _think_ for a moment, will you? Tobias Snape _is_ the Potions Master's apprentice and nephew – naturally _he'll_ have something to offer horny Death Eaters-in-training, don't you think, being all but one himself – "

"Are you suggesting I teach you how to brew Dark potions, Potter?" Harry sighed – this was going to be much harder than he'd thought.

"I'm asking you to let me help _the Order_, Severus – you're already teaching me Dark spells, aren't you?"

"He has a point, Severus," came the surprising comment from a now seated Remus Lupin, who had set down the emptied glass of water. Snape stared at him, opening his mouth to protest, but was cut off. "You taught him the _Adnitor_ – if that's not Dark, then I – "

"And how do you know I taught him the Manipulation Charm at _all_, Lupin?" Snape sneered back, flicking open one of the books on the table in what Harry hoped was a show of indifference – he knew he was working to convince his father he could _do_ this, not Remus –

"You can tell by looking at the golem," Remus offered, a bit coolly. Harry jerked slightly in surprise, looking pointedly at the blasted thing, but he honestly couldn't see what – "It's warped – you can see the stitches have been stretched impossibly. The only thing keeping it together is that animation charm you put on it – "

"Wait – you _knew_ there was a charm on it? You could've _told_ me this _morning_, Remus – I wasted the whole bloody afternoon blasting that stupid thing – "

"And you wouldn't have learnt anything from the experience," Severus smugly put in. Harry glared at him – this was telling, how they were trying to steer him away from talking about his training. It was really infuriating the way his father manoeuvred him sometimes, as if he wouldn't realise what was going on –

"You have at least a month to give me all the _experience_ I need to watch the Slytherins in my year, Severus," he said, trying to keep the frown from his features. "If you don't suggest the idea to Dumbledore, then I _will_. You _know_ it's a good idea, I can tell – "

"The Headmaster has far more _pressing_ concerns than the overseeing of how you employ your time at Hogwarts, Potter – "

"Oh, for Merlin's _sake_ – it's _Snape_," Harry burst out, "would it _kill_ you to let go of the idea that you don't and _can't_ _frighten_ me into submission by calling me that?" Severus threw his hands in the air exasperatedly, avoiding his son's eye. Harry rolled his eyes – the man was so fucking _stubborn_ –

"Oh, _all right_," he got out, slamming the book he'd been handling between familiar long-fingered hands shut with a _thump_ that echoed in the close dungeon. "I'll mention your little dream to the Headmaster, Po – _Tobias_."

"Excuse me?"

"It _is_ your name, is it not?" Severus said, a vicious smile following the dissolving expression of irritation on his face. Harry groaned, cheering inwardly even as a bristling Severus (obviously feeling rather pleased with himself) began to list the texts he would be studying for the next week, including a dubious assortment of mouldy Romanian guidebooks. Severus explained – with a rather malicious smirk – that he would cast some kind of spell on Harry that would speed up the process of learning the language.

As horrible as spending the next few days without his proper wand sounded – for Severus, after the momentary departure of Remus, had railed against the idocy of Ollivander and his new apprentice, who had both refused to alter or mend Harry's wand unless he was present for the process – Harry felt he had accomplished something.

He'd gotten them thinking, and he knew it. And he'd begun to think, himself, that the admittedly now-dreaded return to Hogwarts and its maelstrom of memories and faces would not be quite so bad.

As Harry finally got to his feet and destroyed the charmed golem after a satisfying round of curse – or, rather, charm-breaking, he only hoped that his new niggling feeling of optimism would last.

* * *

_A/N: Dear God, please help me to wade through the rest of these chapters._

_Honestly, I need your help! Harry won't do what I _intend_ him to do anymore, it's infuriating – first he goes off on a spree, examining himself indecorously, then he goes railing at poor Severus and Remus like a wild animal! The cheek of that young man, indeed –_

_Right. Damn this chapter to HELL if it didn't work out, or doesn't work out for you guys. I just hope I got the point across, and that it didn't fall flat._

_Do ask any questions you want, people – feel free to drop by my livejournal account (that's www . livejournal . com / users / uchethegirl / with the spaces taken out) and harp on about Harry and the rest. The next chapter is frankly a bit up in the air – I think it'll be mostly in Harry's POV, but might start out with Severus instead and switch to Harry later on. And Harry will finally be leaving Snape Manor in the next two chapters, to burst upon the unsuspecting wizarding world. _

_Am actually some way through my new chapter for _A Surreal Tale_ as well, so that should be up sometime this weekend, when I've finished studying and writing the horrendous amount of papers I have buzzing around in my brain. Thanks for putting up with me, and stay tuned for the next chapter, tentatively named _Chapter 9: Tobias' First Test

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	9. Chapter 9: Tobias' First Test

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_A/N: New chapter, new disclaimer, new day. What can I say? Enjoy._

_Warning: references to sex and all things sexy later on. It's an M, folks – it pretty much earns its rating, I think. No, Harry's not going to wake up and have a threesome with Ginny and Remus in his head. No. I don't think it's all that serious, really, but hey. You've been warned._

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**Chapter 9: Tobias' First Test**

The meeting with Dumbledore had gone better than he'd _dreamed_.

Harry lay still in his pallet in the dungeon, relishing the silence surrounding him even more than usual. He grimaced slightly as he moved his head by mistake – the damn _headache_ from that bloody language charm just wouldn't go _away_.

It had been a bloody _week_ – no – _two_ weeks, at least, since he'd started using it every night. Harry closed his eyelids, still slightly sore, as were many parts of his new – well, perhaps _not_ so new body. Severus had cracked down on him after the meeting he'd arranged with Dumbledore with an almost frightening intensity, conducting lessons entirely in Romanian as soon as Harry had begun to swear in it.

It didn't mean the headaches hadn't _started_ by then, of course. Harry shifted his long limbs carefully, hating the morning, this morning he'd woken up to, just like so many others, with a mind-numbing headache from the effects of the overnight charm Remus put dutifully on him every night. It wasn't _supposed_ to be employed this long – this was, as Severus had sneeringly informed him, supposed to enhance his cover, to make him have to _work_ to speak English, just like the real 'Tobias' would do in his situation.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, staring at the low, dark ceiling. It had taken almost a week for _Dumbledore_ to finally see him, to finally _bother_ – but it had been worth it.

It had gone so well that he'd begun to wonder if that wasn't what the weary Headmaster of Hogwarts had had in mind all along…

_"Harry, Severus told me of your idea – your plan…"_

_Dumbledore's voice was slightly tired, probably from all the meetings and attacks – the Ministry was in the middle of a very bad run, losing people left, right and centre, or so he was told –_

_The old wizard had looked him straight in the eye, something he'd avoided doing during the last visit, which was absolutely –_

_"I think it is a brilliant idea, Harry," Harry could hardly believe what he was – what Dumbledore was – "And, if you don't mind, I would like to expand on it, just a little _– "

Harry smiled bitterly, slowly, now. The little _expansion_ had eaten up the rest of their training time that evening, and Severus had pushed him hard enough that week, ignoring his protests, to make up for the lost two or three hours. Understandably, learning Apparation had not come easily to him then – not for lack of _abuse_ on Severus' part, of course. By the time his obsessed father – no, _dad_ had calmed down, he'd possessed a new pattern of bruises on his already rather marked body. He could hardly complain, though – he'd gotten into the discussion of plans for Hogwarts, and had been just as involved in it as Dumbledore and Snape had been…

_"Weekly updates, at the least," Severus was saying excitedly, charming a quill to write down the myriad suggestions all of them were spouting, "especially in the first week – to let me know how the Slytherins in your year factors into the plan _– "

_"It would probably be a good idea to tell me as much as you know about them first – so I know where not to push, or something _– "

_"But of course – this whole exercise would be _pointless_ if you do not go into it knowing exactly what you are getting into…" Black eyes flicked up at him, surveying him. "…I will probably have to teach you how to lie, into the bargain _– "

_"Excuse me?" Harry frowned, in half surprise, half amusement, but Dumbledore was nodding his head sagely._

_"Misdirection is the most important lesson you will learn as a spy, Harry – you will need it to know when others around you are lying, when _you_ should be lying, and when you need to tell the truth – or some of it."_

He bit his lower lip, ignoring the fact that there was less of it _to_ bite, for now.That had been one of the oddest parts of his training, in many ways. Severus never mentioned it during duels, or even while goading him in rapid Romanian, but every evening, he sat Harry down and had him reel off a list of statements and ask him to support or defend them. It was really tricky, knowing when to stop, sometimes –

_"For Merlin's _sake_, Tobias – I would have believed that one if you had just kept your mouth _shut_ – _concentrate_, focus on the person you are convincing, watch the signs – you will know when to stop _– "

"_And what if I don't!" Harry shouted back at him – they'd spent more than a bleeding _hour_ on this, and his head was killing him –_

_"Then you use your _skills_, you _fool_. Tell me you haven't forgotten everything I taught you _– "

Harry levered himself gently off the bed. He'd balked when told he'd _have_ to use Legilimency until he learned how to tell easily when people believed or didn't believe him – Voldemort _had_ unsuccessfully subjected him to his acidic form of the art several times during his captivity, and he'd known he would never be very eager to return the favour to him, or anyone else, without some form of permission.

Unless, of course, it was someone like Dumbledore or Malfoy, in which case he'd need any advantage he could get.

Harry grinned slowly – the one he'd been told to practise, as usual, now – as he sat up properly, gingerly stretching his aching muscles. The Easter Holidays started sometime soon, he could remember _that_ – and already he and Severus had begun to plot Tobias' 'arrival' in the village, knowing they would soon need to make a trip to Diagon Alley to purchase things for 'Tobias', and – which was most important – _finally_ pick up Harry's wand. Severus had been raving about Ollivander's stubborn refusal to relinquish the thing to anyone but Harry for a long time now, and it would be a relief to cross _that_ off the list of Things My Father Rants About.

The List, so far, included anything from the Vadims (their daughter seemed to irritate Severus without fail) to the spell books (which apparently left out the _proper_, rather painful way to better one's Wall Charm) to Harry himself. It was a rather long list with or without the Ollivanders, but Harry was firmly of the opinion that every little helped.

Harry made his way carefully across the dungeon, noting Severus' absence – probably asleep next door, or gone, if it was that late in the morning – as he _Accioed_ his drab towel. He wanted a long soak – preferably in water that was piping hot, with Iona trying to drown herself alongside him – but knew better than to do so without checking his disagreeable father was somewhere nearby. This morning, however, instead of dragging his protesting body over to the next dungeon and flinging all his weak morning strength against the door (for that was how _that_ door was opened – by brute physical force, or by a force spell that always tired him just as badly, as the bloody temporary wand didn't _do_ that spell), he cast a small notification charm, and smiled to himself when it worked.

_Someone_ was there, asleep – and that was bloody well good enough for him –

Harry barged into the bath-dungeon – he'd been wavering between 'bathroom' and 'bath-dungeon' for weeks, and felt like today was a 'bath-dungeon' day – and spelled the ancient tub full of steaming water. Looking around for Iona, he cursed – in English – when he realised he'd _forgotten_ her in his dungeon. Returning for her did not feel like an option, especially not when that warm water was beckoning to him…

Charming his temporary wand to stay afloat, he spelled his favourite soap into the water – an odd, weakly bubbling concoction he'd found in one of the dusty old Romanian guidebooks that stank of spiced pumpkin and melon but left you smelling faintly of apple cider – and got in, hissing delightedly as the water stung his skin and wincing as he sat down rather hard on a particularly tender spot.

Harry closed his eyes, dragging wet fingers through his messy hair as he wriggled down into the tub. As severe as his panic attack had been, it just could not dissuade him from taking a fairly luxurious dip when he could have used a Cleansing Charm – they just didn't feel the _same_. Certainly not as warm and sleep-inducing as _this_…

Harry twisted and tipped his head into the water – just enough to wet his hair properly – before scrabbling for the wand so he could put more of the soapy concoction on it. It seemed to agree with his hair – it actually had a _sheen_ now – so he'd begun to make an effort to use it every so often. His scalp tingled mildly as he sank down pleasurably once more, hoping he'd have more than just a few minutes in the hot water.

Fifteen minutes later – seemed like that, anyhow – Harry began to scrub himself gently, shying away from the most tender portions of his skin. He avoided looking too closely at his skin, as always – he wondered sometimes, dispiritedly, if even Mad-Eye was as scarred as _this_. The only places that were really scar-free were his lower arms – and _that_ was because his skin had healed, somehow. Most of them weren't very obtrusive, to be sure – mostly fine, deep lines from the awful Blood-Boiling Curse and a place or two where his skin had been burnt beyond remedy, as well as that nasty, jagged scar on his upper left arm. His face didn't count – there was that blasted _scar_, wasn't there, as well as several scratches on his cheek and neck. Why, even his _thing_ had something…on it.

_Merlin_ – _not _now –

Harry bit his lip to keep from cursing, again. He'd heard something from next door – Eavesdropping Hex, on the door to this dungeon, just in case – that signalled Severus was up, moving grumpily about as was his wont. It only made him more uncomfortable to know his _father_ was somewhere nearby while he was – erm – erect.

There was no other way to put it.

Erect. Aroused. At attention. Signalling. Up for it.

"_Nemernic__ (1)_ – _ridicol__ (2)_ – " He seized his floating wand, wincing as the slightly cooled water swirled around him – it would be so easy, just to touch himself, just once, he hadn't for so long –

"_Nici un__ (3)_." he ordered himself, not caring what language he was speaking. _Veron_ had touched him there – paralysed him once, and brought him to an agonising, deeply humiliating climax, just for the _fun_ of it –

Harry could feel the water warming about him slightly, and forced himself to relax, to start massaging his scalp, to try to _ignore_ – but, by _Merlin_, he was getting harder, and the weak bubbles of the spicy soap around him weren't helping, and neither was the water. Rinsing out his hair by dunking his head briefly under the steaming water didn't help either – shifting just made him _harder_ –

"Bine (4). _Fine_." Harry touched himself, and was surprised that none of the memories assailed him – vague recollections of disgust and shame swamped him, but it was bearable, compared to the panic, and it was really quite –

_Bloody – that's –_

He sighed, closing his eyes, letting the rusty pleasure sweep through him, better memories coming forth, of furtive touching on restless nights, with red curtains spelled shut around him. Of red hair –

He bit his lip lightly as he came – silence came easier now – and pinked slightly, scrabbling for his wand. The water was no less warm, but no longer _quite_ as clean, and he wiped himself gently, Vanishing the familiar-smelling mess, wandlessly Summoning his grey towel, which hung suspended on a nearby hook. Dull triumph washed through him as he realized he'd been able to touch himself for the first time, without thinking of – Lucius. Without feeling even dirtier than usual, too.

It was a privately auspicious day, then. And, as Harry rubbed himself dry, he allowed himself a proper look. Foreskin intact. A bit thinner, a little longer.

Nothing to worry about, in any case.

The sense of triumph increased twofold, following him back to the dungeon, along with the feeling that life was, in its own way, returning to normal.

If normal could be called Iona's angry hiss at being left behind, of course. But he wasn't complaining, was he? This was good enough, for now.

And, who knew – it might get even better. Harry wondered if he'd be able to show his skin to another human being, apart from Severus or Remus or even Dumbledore. He smiled again, pacifying Iona with a delicate Warming Charm.

_Better not push my luck_.

* * *

Severus Snape stretched luxuriously, rubbing out the kinks in his arms – no doubt because he'd slept so awkwardly on them. He shrugged, reaching for the worn old dressing gown crumpled at the foot of the thin pallet so he could cover himself. He'd slept unclothed – _again_. 

Severus yawned tiredly, somehow pulling on the wretched thing. It was getting to be a habit, this. Looking back on the hard work he'd put in the previous evening, he could not find it in himself to regret it, however. The boy – his son – was finally _getting_ somewhere. They'd argued just before stumbling into bed, over something he could not quite recall – _probably some unimportant detail _Tobias_ sees fit to be foolishly stubborn about_ – and done so in fluent Romanian. Interspersed here and there were a few choice English words, such as _idiot_ and _uncomprehending fool_, which Severus had not seen fit to translate, but it had been well done, on the whole. Harry – _Tobias_, he had to get in the habit of thinking that way, or they were _both_ doomed – had used the entertaining string of insults he'd found in one of the newer guidebooks, grinning foolishly at the end when Severus had grudgingly allowed that his pronunciation was good.

Har – _Tobias_ was simply a glutton for affirmation – another habit his father had not quite put to death yet. It would not do for him to become sympathetic to an enemy simply because they repeatedly told him he was a very good wizard, or some other such nonsense. The fact that he _was_ – _or will_ be_, once he excises some of his more pathetic faults_ – a rather proficient wizard was beside the point, and something the boy himself just could not seem to grasp. Severus smirked to himself – he'd have to work on that, too, as quickly as he could – Snapes were all _proud_, to a fault, of qualities they had.

Of some they _didn't_, too, to be sure – but that, again, was beside the point.

"Tobias?" Severus called out, opening the door to 'his' dungeon with a forceful flick. _Always been troublesome, this one – constantly creaking and letting in all sorts of foul creatures_…_where _is_ that boy_ –

"Da, îmi pare de rãu (5) – I'm in my dungeon…Anything going on?" The voice that answered was frighteningly similar to his own – _still haven't gotten used to that_ – and was deeper in timbre, lightly slower than normal. The accent Har – Tobias had worked (unwillingly) to acquire was there in full force. Severus found his lips twitching into an odd, unaccustomed smile, and stilled them immediately. Though they were deep into the weekend and his absence from Hogwarts would cause no suspicion, they had no time to waste.

Really, Severus thought absently, seizing a dry towel before he departed for the 'bathroom', they had a lot of things to go over before Tobias could 'arrive' at the Manor. They would have to do it properly, too – Dumbledore had managed to secure a passport for a look-alike and have the poor fool Apparate into the hidden station not five miles from here. There, 'Severus' (for Albus had thought it far too risky for the _real_ Potions Master to perform such a function, as he would not be able to lie about it if questioned) and 'Tobias' would meet, argue and return stealthily to Snape Manor, and then they would wait for a convenient moment to visit Diagon Alley. He would Floo the Headmaster, who would announce that he would be 'unavailable' for the next few days, and then they would travel to Hogwarts together on the Express (disagreeing as publicly as possible), and Tobias would make his entrance.

On opening the dungeon door, Severus stilled slightly, sniffing the air – if he wasn't mistaken, that was the –

Ah. He directed the towel to hang itself, and filled the old, rickety tub, _Scourgifying_ it first, for good measure. It appeared, though Har – _Tobias_ had hidden any other traces admirably, that his sexual drive was active again.

Severus sighed, dipping into the warm water with no preamble, absently adding too many bubbles. He'd been expecting it for some time – been rather alarmed when it had not surfaced last week, in fact – but it still came as a shock. That his son had pleasured himself in _here_, possibly in the tub itself –

Scrubbing hastily, Severus rinsed himself off, _Summoning_ the towel. Presently, he really _didn't_ want to sit in the thing. It amazed him how nauseating the thought was to him – he who was no stranger to the permutations of sexuality. Roughly drying his pale skin, Severus found himself wondering if his son would ever be normal – would ever regard sex, and everything pertaining to it as most wizards did. Severus cast a short Cleansing spell on his slightly damp hair, his movements slowing as he thought back to the horror of watching someone he'd once thought a true ally touching his son's weakened, bloody form.

The towel dragged on the floor as its handler glared malevolently into space, fists clenching and unclenching. Severus did not let himself think about that awful occurrence while Harry was there – he could not. If he did, he'd simply abandon the boy's set lessons and teach him the vilest Dark Curse he knew, then Floo them both over to Malfoy Manor, conveniently wrapped in the boy's Invisibility Cloak.

Dumbledore, of course, would have his _head_, not to mention his _intestines_ and _genitals_, if something as drastic as _that_ happened. But Severus, breathing harshly in the close dungeon, knew very well that there were situations where there was room to manoeuvre, where either of them could successfully argue the expediency of slaughtering Lucius Malfoy.

_And when that day comes_…Severus smiled bitterly. Well. By then, Harry would surely know a suitably Dark, painful curse, and would use it, and use it _well_.

Severus finally blasted the sopping towel with a Drying Charm and hung it absently up. As pitiful as waiting for that day was, it was surely better than letting the bitterness swamp him and paralyse him. Lucius Malfoy _would_ have an end – a gory one – and Severus could, and would rest easier if he knew it.

For he well knew that, when Harry – _damn it all_,_ Tobias – it's _Tobias – practised the more borderline of the restricted spells his father knowingly taught him, he thought of the same thing. The Dark Lord – the images Severus had unknowingly gleaned from his son's mind to that effect were horrifying – and Lucius, in seventy different kinds of agony. And if _Tobias_ seemed to have a predilection for both or either of them spouting blood and/or shrieking in agony, well – who was his father to disabuse him of such noble dreams?

"Took your time, did you?" the sarcastic remark came, as soon as Severus had set foot in the duelling room. Tobias fidgeted before him, dark green eyes a cool contrast to his twitchy form. "Nothing's wrong, is it?"

"Nici un. Nothing is wrong." Severus made a beeline for the unoccupied seat before him, sinking easily into it. Tobias, he noticed, winced as he sat across from him – "Are you in pain?" The boy scowled darkly.

"Only from that bloody language charm. The rest is superficial – no point wasting Pain-Relief Potion just because I wasn't fast enough on my nemernic feet yesterday." The boy blinked, surprise flashing briefly across his features. "Did I just…again…?"

"You swore, yes. In Romanian." Severus leant forward, triumph surging through him. "You sound like a native – educated, but _definitely_ foreign. I _told_ you – "

" – the charm would work. I _get_ it." Severus found himself smirking – the boy sounded so much like him. Tobias even _snapped_ like he did, it was really – "Wipe that proste (6) smirk off your face – don't we have anything better to do?"

"As you are sufficiently prepared," Snape said, ignoring his son's glare as he rose to his feet once again, "we shall begin. _Rudentis ligo!"_

A fast, furious duel ensued, peppered thoroughly with swearing in Romanian. Severus had just blocked a rather violent Tearing Hex with rather more difficulty than usual, when the lights suddenly, without warning, winked out. He cursed, incanting an abnormally strong Protego silently, just in case. Ingenious, but so very _underhand_, especially for his idiot Gryffindor child –

"Oh, don't be that way, Severus – you've used this trick on me at least _three_ times, now – "

"_Flaminis!"_

White light streaked across the room, aimed in the approximate direction of his son's voice. But _blast it all_, Severus could make out the deadly, near-invisible arc of peach light spinning into him from above, and he'd hardly have _time_ – "_Integumentum vis!"_ The powerful blue of the Shield of Power vibrated around him as the peach light thrummed against it – the _Annelli viris_, he'd stake his wand on it –

"_Acus acuminis!"_ Severus twitched in surprise – and the rain of stinging needles were coming from entirely the _wrong_ direction – he cast up a Wall Charm to replace the powerful shield, knowing it would illuminate him, but hoping it would also –

_Aha!_ "_Veneficus suspendo!"_

A muffled yelp and clatter told Severus what he needed to hear. A simple _Lumos_ set the lights blazing again, only to reveal another rain of needles heading directly for him – "_Fingere vallum!_ Cease _immediately_, Tobias - !"

"Let me _down_, you foul – "

"_Finite_. If I hadn't seen the needles – "

"Too fucking _bad_. Thought you had me cornered, didn't you – "

"Apparently not, Mr. _Wandless-magic-coming-out-my-ears_ – "

"You deserved it!"

"_I_ deserved to be _blinded_ by your idiocy?"

"I've _told_ you I don't _like_ to be upside down – "

"Imagine, _Potter_, for _one_ moment, that I am your enemy – "

"You're my _father_, for fuck's sake – "

" – I would certainly use your fear against you – "

" – that's _no excuse_ to – "

" – you need to DEAL WITH YOUR FEAR – "

"Why don't _YOU_ DEAL WITH IT – "

The door slammed open, halting the two angry men for a minute as a familiar brown-and-grey head popped in, followed cautiously by a shabby body. _Lupin_ – of all the people to –

"_Tell him_, Remus – "

"_Stay out of it_, Lupin – "

"Severus, Har – please, be – "

"_He hung me upside down!"_

"Not a _word_, Lupin!"

"_Quiet!_" Severus stared at the man – ah, right, the full moon was in a few – "I'm _fine_, thank you. Thank you for _asking_." Severus heard his son huff impatiently in the corner of Severus' eye, and gave him a glare in return.

"Don't _look_ at me like that – "

"_I said _QUIET!" Lupin snarled, slamming the door. "Do you want to trade _insults_ with your father, _Harry_, or do you want to listen to my _important information_?" Tobias scowled, sullenly crossing his arms. It fitted him, Severus realized with absent shock, more than it had ever done that bastard James Potter, or the figment of overactive, vindictive imagination that he'd shaped into Harry Potter.

"Would you take a seat, Lupin?" he offered, as politely as he could allow, gesturing towards one as he took his customary one. Lupin gave him an incredulous look, and shook his shaggy head in answer, even as the boy sank rebelliously into a chair.

"Dumbledore sent me to say the fake Harry will be here in an hour, _and_ that you and the real Harry," Lupin cast a slightly apologetic look in his direction, entirely destroying the effect of the glare he'd been giving him up to that point, "should be ready to go to Diagon Alley in about half an hour from then."

"What? But that – "

"It's simpler that way, see – the Order's in full force in the Alley this morning, because of rumours of the Death Eaters hitting Gringotts again in the evening – " That couldn't be right – the Dark Lord was clearly doing nothing until Tuesday that week –

"Lupin, I verified those rumours as false, did I not?"

"The Headmaster said you weren't supposed to tell us, though, were you? So you _didn't_, and Order doesn't know any better. The Ally will be teeming with Order members, and – "

"What of the boy's displacement lag – international Apparation is always – "

"Didn't the fake me do smaller jumps, to be seen by more people?" Tobias interjected, voice still sullen. "You get less displacement lag that way – "

"It still does _not_ account for your perfect health in half an hour, Po – Tobias," Severus said sharply. This was a sensitive matter – Dumbledore's order, as much as it made sense, simply did not, _could not_ compute –

"You're a Potions Master, Severus – no one will suspect foul play," Lupin said, fidgeting with his patched sleeve. "A powerful Strengthening Solution and thirty minutes of rest _would_ be enough to allow a quick trip to Diagon Alley and back here, would it not?" Severus grudgingly gave his assent. He supposed the Headmaster _had_ thought this thro -

"So," Tobias piped up, the hostile set eroding gradually from his frame, "who's the fake Harry, then?" Lupin gave Severus a longsuffering look. He sneered in return – he'd had to deal with _training_ the brat, hadn't he, while _Lupin_ had been off gallivanting on raids with that Tonks girl, smothering her in werewolf spunk to boot –

"You know I can't tell you that." Tobias smiled, shrugging disarmingly. Lupin finally seemed to break down, going for one of the last two empty chairs. Severus stood immediately, knowing to leave the two for a moment, however short it would be. Har – Tobias had eventually settled back into something approximating his usual sickening camaraderie with the werewolf, broken by frequent bursts of temper (on the brat's side) in response to impassioned speeches on morals and temperament (on Lupin's side, of course).

Severus could not help banging the dungeon door shut behind him, as he stalked off to find some suitable attire for his son. It was like _clockwork_, for Merlin's sake – every time the _idiot werewolf_ reappeared, Harry, _his_ son, would sit down and natter companionably with the dolt. Like a pair of old witches two eggs short of a dozen –

Severus slammed the rickety wardrobe shut, darting out the dungeon with several drab combinations of colourless shirt and worn robes. He didn't like to think he was _affected_ by the whole thing – the idea, in itself, was just _ridiculous_.

Not nearly as ridiculous as the few remnants of his son's clothing, however. Severus wrinkled his large nose in distaste at the shabby, too-large jeans – at least, he _supposed_ that was what they were called – and huge trousers. But _that_ pair had promise – wasn't _torn_ anywhere – and a proper shade of almost-black. Dark grey, really, but an hour was an hour, and these things could be altered.

He returned to see Lupin laughing with his son, and forced himself not to slam the dungeon door as he entered. Har – _Tobias_ looked darkly handsome, his imperfect face stretched into a grin that reminded him oddly of Harry. Lupin looked his usual weary self, if a little less taut, a little more alive. Their laughter died down somewhat as he stomped into the room, laying down the murky clothes in a heap on the table.

Tobias sighed and looked resigned as they went through the sorry pile, perking up occasionally as they talked of intrigue and the underlying message of his shabby outfit. Soon enough, he'd ducked out of the dungeon to change – _still ashamed of his scars, the idiot, when they only add what that silly Parkinson chit would call _character – and had ducked back in before Lupin could tell him anything of note, save that the Vadim girl was using every possible method to 'legitimately' sneak her way into the raids.

Severus watched his son closely as he and Lupin turned him about, shrinking the trousers as carefully as they could, and lightening and tightening the soft grey shirt Tobias had stubbornly insisted on. Soon enough – after telling the boy that yes, the trousers _were_ supposed to be that tight – they were ready, and Lupin had gone out, Polyjuiced as Severus, to meet the fake Tobias.

His son was so many more things now. Scarred, defiant, ashamed, intriguing, powerful – surprisingly intelligent –

"Severus," the deep voice startled him slightly, forcing him to actually look the brat in the eye. A cold smile twisted its way onto Tobias' face in a way that was eerily familiar. "Calm down, for Merlin's sake." A slim hand squeezed his shoulder momentarily. "Relax, will you?"

And, as Severus Snape looked into his son's slightly uncertain green eyes, he found himself doing just that.

And, as they received the signal to depart for the Alley, he decided that they'd be able to face anything thrown at them, this bright afternoon, even if it was the Dark Lord himself. For what was _he_ do, faced with father and son? Severus found himself smiling against his will. _Turn and run_. _Tactical retreat_, _the bastard would call it_…

"Ready, Tobias?" His son took the cracked pot of Floo powder diffidently, handsome look of distaste in place, as agreed.

"Ready, Severus." Green flames soared high, and then – "The Leaky Cauldron!"

Severus followed after him, heart abnormally light within his black-robed breast.

* * *

Endnotes:

(1) Wretched.

(2) Ridiculous.

(3) No.

(4) Fine.

(5) Yes, I'm sorry

(6) Stupid

* * *

_A/N: Yeah, I feel good. Do you feel good? Yeah, I've a test tomorrow, and I'm posting this up instead of studying. Do I feel lucky? Not particularly. It's a lateish morning class, and the subject pushes my good buttons occasionally, so I'll do fine._

_Well, well, well. Thanks to everyone that reviewed so far! Keep them _coming_, people – I love hearing from you guys, especially if it's with questions wink wink. Oh, and please do tell me if the sentence about Apparation early on was too forced – I kinda added that in at the last minute._

_Sorry about the cliff-hanger, but said test beckons. And I think some of you remember the snippet you'll definitely be seeing next chapter, which is tentatively named: _Chapter 10 – Events on the Alley_. And that should just about write itself, so you'll be seeing that latest by Saturday or Sunday.

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	10. Chapter 10: Shopping With Snapes

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_A/N: All questions go on the bottom, guys! Or rather, all general answers. _

_For those who were there when this story was nothing more than a string of tantalising tidbits, the snippet cometh! The pretty one, to be exact, although I've amended and cut and disfigured it slightly._

_In this chapter, as you've guessed, Harry and Severus finally take 'Tobias' for a spin on Diagon Alley, if rather sooner than they both expected. Do remember that conversation in «these brackets» is in Romanian. Now now, you didn't expect me to actually translate everything for you, did you? Back to the chapter…_

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**Chapter 10: Shopping With Snapes**

As Harry quickly discovered, frowning the special Snape Frown was all too easy when you had a thumping headache and were drained and weak from 'International Apparation'. He scowled as he half-stepped, half-stumbled out of the fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron, limbs quivering as much as he would let them from the Draining Drought his _father_ had insisted he take an all-too-hearty sip of before leaving – for accuracy.

_Screw _accuracy_ with a ten-foot wand,_ was all 'Tobias' really had to say, now. Walking the Snape Way was even harder to pull off when one felt like someone had removed half one's insides and replaced them with an overwhelming urge to sleep somewhere. Anywhere.

"Wipe that pitiful look off your face this _instant_," came the low, rather good-natured snap from his father. "Snapes do _not_ grimace in that way, not even when in pain. I've told you a _thousand_ times – "

«You did a pretty good job of it in first year when Fluffy got you in the leg,» Harry snapped in return, unsurprised that it came out in menacing Romanian. He tended to lapse into it when he was particularly emotional, or so he had begun to realise –

"_When_ you have been savaged by a three-headed dog, you may contort your stupid face into whatever ridiculous facial expression you _wish_, _Toby_." Harry bristled at the way his father said the name – that was, if he wasn't mistaken, the 'Potter' tone of contempt.

"It's _Tobias_ to you, _Uncle_."

"Shut up and recite your list. Quickly." Harry – no, _Tobias_, he could not afford not to be in character from now – rolled his eyes as Snapeishly as possible, dug his hands into his threadbare pockets and began as they threaded their way through the crowded, rather gloomy pub.

«Robes, new cauldron, wand, one or two basic Potions supplies, quills and parchment, a few books, a standard broom of some kind, and…I think that's it.»

"Owl," Severus added, giving him a sharp look. "You keep forgetting that – "

"Whatever." Harry's – _Tobias'_ shoulders sank down a fraction more at the comment. He'd desperately wanted to somehow bring Hedwig along – he'd even looked for some transfiguration spells last week, too, but Snape had been adamant that he buy a new owl.

_"I can _do_ those spells, you _know_ that – it won't even take more than – "_

_"It does not _matter_ how long or how skilled the transformation will be, don't you understand? It matters that you use magic _as little as possible_ to help you on your way, in this plan." Severus gave him a tired look as he shuffled about the dusty books on the desk. "Spells and transformations can be broken, can be removed – you, of _all_ people, should know."_

It hadn't helped matters when their argument had degenerated into a yelling match about his father's morals, either. Harry – _Tobias_ wriggled his fingers uncertainly, still frowning. They hadn't talked about the whole situation since their last argument in Severus' gloomy office, and _that_ had been while the Enchantment Strengthener had been doing its work. He was still unsure as to what exactly had happened between Severus and his mother, and knew he couldn't accept James' immensely biased view of the situation. The problem was getting his sour father to actually _speak_ about the whole thing, now that they were almost done with their feverish preparations for his return.

_Maybe I'll ask him again, carefully – just before I go back to Hogwarts_ – Harry thought fleetingly, eyeing his brooding father as they finally shoved through to the entrance of Diagon Alley – to the counterpoint of the stares of intrigued witches and wizards in the pub, who could not seem to resist taking long looks at the two of them.

"Right," Severus began lowly, tapping the correct brick as impatiently as possible. "We will make short stops at the Apothecary and Eyelops, as well as at the cauldron shop, before heading for Madame Malkin's – I had a fitting appointment set up earlier this week, so we would have time to make a proper impression. After that, we will visit Flourish and Blott's, the Quidditch shop, and possibly the stationary shop as well. Ollivander's will be last, or at – " he seemed to check something on his wrist, as they passed through the archway – "two thirty- seven. You remember the drill, don't you, boy?"

"I'm not shaking because I'm nervous or stupid," Tobias retorted with a glare, ignoring the way his stomach belied his statement, "I'm _shaking_ because you dosed me with that stupid draught – " Severus gave him a narrowed _what-on-earth-are-you-thinking_ look – "instead of the _proper_ Strengthening Solution. Sometimes, if I didn't know better, I would think you were still trying to poison me." He found himself hard-pressed to keep from smirking – Severus _evidently_ still thought he'd be stupid enough to say something where anyone could hear them, and suspect.

Suspect _what_, Tobias was not entirely sure, seeing as no one could possibly have followed them from Snape Manor to the Leaky Cauldron without being Dumbledore or Remus and knowing what their plans were. And, besides, the wards wouldn't have let anyone who _hadn't_ been Remus Lupin into the creaky old place. At least, that was what –

_Bugger. 'Harry Potter' is truly not long for this world, is he? I'm getting _paranoid_ over _wards_, for Merlin's sake_ –

"You forget _entirely_ who I am," Snape returned calmly, turning away so Har – Tobias didn't catch the way his mouth twitched at the ends – a sure sign that he found something funny. "There are far easier, much less suspicious ways of ending your foolish young life, _none_ of them to do with poison." And then they'd slipped into the Apothecary, and the first real test for 'Tobias' had begun.

It began well, with Tobias looking over ingredients with an avid, rapt air, hardly seeming to listen to Severus bantering with the store clerk, who he evidently knew and knew well. As agreed, _Tobias_ tried to suggest or purchase some of the odder ingredients, and Snape shot him down mercilessly, establishing the dynamic they were to have at Hogwarts and elsewhere.

"For the last time, _no_, you shall not purchase whole bicorn horn, Tobias," Severus said waspishly, cutting into Har – _Tobias'_ slightly plaintive spiel as he accepted the carefully shrunk ingredients, stowing them away in a bottomless-seeming black satchel. "I could not care _less_ what devious little _project_ – most likely illegal, knowing your tendencies – depends on it so. Now, for that cauldron of yours…" They crossed easily through the close, suspicious clusters of people in the street to reach the rather empty shop, where they proceeded to have a low, yet heated argument over whether Tobias needed a silver cauldron or not, rather than an ordinary bronze one, which rather seemed to attract the attention of the dozy, rather frightened-looking clerk on duty.

Having 'lost' _that_ argument, Tobias argued very hard to be able to choose what kind of owl he wanted, making sure to fuss and scowl over the fact that he'd not been allowed to bring over his Black-and-White Hawk Eagle because of the inconvenience of the birds (rather odd) feeding and mating habits. Severus sighed and scowled, but gave in as planned, and soon he and Tobias were leaving the close, warm shop, Tobias carrying a rather large, shifty tawny owl preening within its cage, and thinking rather dazedly that _that_ had gone _far_ too well.

If he hadn't known any better, he'd have thought the middle-aged witch had been trying to _flirt_ with him, or something. Tobias snorted, shifting the heavy owl cage – this fellow was rather larger than Hedwig had ever been – hoping to just _get on_ with everything. Hoping his _dad_ would not -

"It appears you already have yet another fan, _Tobias_."

– comment. Tobias did what could only be done with a sneering Severus at these moments, when you were _trying_ not to collapse onto the – _rather dangerous_ – uneven stones in Diagon Alley, which was now starting to hum with people hurrying this way and that. Namely, kept silent. It would hardly do to -

_Wait – is that _Tonks_ I just saw at Fortescue's_ –

"It is impolite to _stare_, Tobias," Snape sneered, jabbing him – rather unfairly – in the underarm. "_Do_ try to remember you are among _civilised_ people – " They turned haphazardly into Quidditch Quality Supplies, wrestling through the increased flow of people going to and fro. This time, Har – Tobias had no problem mustering the required hostility, despite the fact that he _hadn't_ been supposed to be staring at Tonks as if he knew her.

Which he bloody well _hadn't_ – he'd only paused for a minute, for crying out loud, and he _did_ have _some_ control over his bloody expressions nowadays, so he'd have _known_.

"I've always wondered if you got off on belittling me," Tobias said sharply, sending an acid look his father's way. "Now I know the truth – you probably _do_. I honestly can't see why – "

"Oh be _silent_, for Merlin's sake," snapped Severus, surprising the female shop assistant that had come their way, sales prattle clearly on the tip of her tongue. "It is _enough_, I assure you, to weary myself with your inane presence when I could be giving my attention to those things that _merit_ it, thank you – "

Tobias rolled his eyes, turning unconcernedly to the shop assistant, who he tried a half-smile at. Surprisingly she responded with an odd one in return – well, a happy clerk was an unsuspecting one, so –

"I'm looking for a mid-line racing broom, nothing flashy," he cut in, smiling more to cover the rudeness of his interruption. "Not necessarily anything competitive – it'll be used mostly for travel, and such…" The witch pinked slightly – probably the accent, it had really gotten thicker than he'd imagined, somehow, but that couldn't be helped. Snape snorted disdainfully beside him, but Tobias could no longer care – he was eyeing the specimens on the wall, the Firebolt in particular, with hunger.

_Been so long since I've really _flown_ – maybe I'll play Quidditch at Hogwarts still_… Tobias hazarded a glance over at his indifferent father, who seemed to somehow catch on to his line of thought immediately, narrowing his black eyes. Tobias was just about to follow his hopeful glance with a question when Severus spoke up.

"You can strip your brain of wonderful Quidditch victories, Tobias – apprentices are not allowed on the house teams. In _any_ case." Snape firmly added, as colour drained from Harry – no, _Tobias_, fucking _Tobias'_ face. Harry tried to contain his emotion – what had he been _thinking_, anyway – that he'd swoop in and reclaim the post of Gryffindor Quidditch Captain? Win the Quidditch Cup, for Slytherin?

Har – _Tobias_ gave himself a tense little shake, using Occlumency as violently as possible against the despairing thoughts flooding into his brain. So that, by the time Annelise – the witch had told him that, now almost totally ignoring Severus as she leaned in closer than was necessary to tell him the final price of his purchase, a vague Nimbus model. He paid absently – thank Merlin Severus had thought to give him _some_ gold before venturing into this shop -

They passed the oddly packed Flourish and Blott's, which, despite the burns and cracks in the storefront, seemed to teem with customers. And then – "Here we are." Tobias paused, a little woodenly, nerves and dread seeming to fill up the spaces within him that had previously screamed for endless sleep. Severus eyed him carefully, patting him a little too diffidently on the back as they found themselves before Madame Malkin's. Harry – Tobias exchanged a short glance with him, his heart lifting slightly as he confirmed that his father was somehow worried, and trying to soothe him in some way.

"Don't forget," Severus whispered, so quietly Harry – _Tobias_ – had to strain to hear his smooth words, "to _sneer_." As they passed through the door, the merry jingling of the doorbell belying the rather sombre, hushed air within, _Tobias_ began his perfected half-drawl, half-whine.

"Are you _perfectly_ sure I'll need more than four pairs of robes, Severus…" Tobias trailed off, adding sullenly, "…_sir_…" Snape gave him an irritated look as one of the shop girls (who looked rather apprehensive of approaching the annoyed Potions Master) scuttled to a stop nearby.

"Can I help you, Mr…."

"Don't worry yourself, Katie dear – it's only Severus Snape, the Potions Master at Hogwarts," the loud, slightly less cheery voice of Madame Malkin cut through the girl's – it could be called nothing else – _blithering_ – "Will it be the usual, Profe – _ah_, a new customer…"

At this, Madame Malkin came bustling up to the pair, her sharp eyes raking Tobias' features as he struggled to keep his (lightly sneering) face bored and uninterested. This, according to his father's numerous worrying rants (there were at least two kinds with him), was _it_ – the most important person to convince. Madame Malkin, as he'd come to realise, was somewhat of a respected personality on Diagon Alley, as she usually saw every wizard personally for the first time, and sometimes (if they were influential enough) for subsequent visits.

In short, Tobias thought, taking a deep breath as unobtrusively as possible, she had the potential to be the most well-informed gossip in all of Wizarding Britain, next to Madame Rosmerta or the barkeep at The Hog's Head.

"This _really_ is kind of you, Severus – and in these hard times, too – Katie, Lavinia, the tape measure, please – _do_ have a seat, Professor…" The plump woman had Tobias up on the fitting wheel in a trice, motioning for him to remove his clearly threadbare robes to reveal a slightly too-tight t-shirt of an indeterminate greyish colour and worn, nondescript near-black trousers that Snape had insisted on Tobias wearing to emphasize his new extra skinniness.

"_Do I _have_ to wear this?"__ Harry had demanded._

"_Most wizards will be either too disgusted at the state of your wardrobe to bother talking to you, or too busy wondering how badly I already treat you," Snape had remarked, intent on charming Harry's second tightest t-shirt an odd, muddy colour. Harry had been sceptical, but too nervous and eager to get started to bother arguing very much._

And it worked, too: Madame Malkin gave Professor Snape an appraising look after watching Tobias being put through his paces as sullenly as possible by a blinking Lavinia. Even as the tape began to fly about on its own, Tobias felt more than one pair of eyes rove over his back, only to find that the nervous shop assistant – Katie, he thought it was – had given up on her nervousness (at least, around _him_), and was now – Harry's face heated – eyeing up his _bum_.

And Harry – _Tobias_, he reminded himself, irritably, – still thought he was extremely lucky that his new face didn't heat up as readily as his old one. As he blushed and struggled to keep his face impassive, he remembered all too well how Severus had gleefully _insisted_ those few times while they'd attempted to relax between their violent duelling sessions, that he was now rather – he'd shuddered – _pretty_. Harry, while guilty of more than one intensive foray into the dubious land of preening, had refused to even acknowledge the fact that his new features had a slightly girlish cast to them in the wrong light, but had privately, grudgingly admitted that he was rather more attractive than before. And, to add to his dark green eyes and thin, sharply expressive features, when the glamour had completely come off – and Harry had finally regained the lost weight and strength, sometime last week – his body had shown surprisingly more (underfed, to begin with) muscle and tone than he was at all used to. Again, Harry had admitted privately to an amused Remus, he'd always wondered why the little muscle he'd slowly acquired in Hogwarts had never really shown on his thin body.

Still, he'd never have thought that this girl he hardly even knew, who was probably much older than him, would have been staring at his arse.

"Your nephew, you say – ?" Madame Malkin was saying, as Lavinia started to pin black swathes onto Har – _Tobias_. Professor Snape crossed his legs, tapping one impatiently as he answered, that yes, it was his nephew – stubborn thing that he was – and that he'd be going to Hogwarts with him in time for the spring term, and would she please add a set or two of dress robes – something not too plain –

"Dress robes?" Tobias demanded, on cue. "But I thought – "

"The money your _uncle_ gave me will cover that _quite easily_, Tobias. Yes, Madame, there'll be one or two small school balls at Hogwarts this year – to stave off the mad behaviour that would certainly arise once the _children_ – " Snape said this as if it were a swear word, "realise their Hogsmeade outings shall continue to be denied them from now on."

"No Hogsmeade trips for the students?" Katy gasped, pausing so that a pin stuck rather hard into Tobias' shoulder. Harry – _Tobias_, conditioned by the practice with Snape, reacted immediately.

"If you don't _mind_," he put forth, sneering, "this whole process would be rather less _painful_ if you paid attention to what you're doing." Tobias caught the small flicker of approval in Snape's eyes as he continued to speak, and felt only a _little_ bad about the way the girl reddened and went back to her task, pinning so lightly Har – _Tobias_, this was really getting annoying – knew the robes would be too loose. Almost without thinking, he let out a short sigh of frustration.

"…security becoming more difficult to ensure…" Snape drawled on, Madame Malkin nodding fervently in assent.

"Sir?" Lavinia inquired timidly, her cheeks turning pink as well, as she spotted Tobias' new frustration.

"_What's_ your name?" Tobias said, turning abruptly to face an even redder Katy.

"K-K-Katy, sir…"

"_Katy_," Tobias said as silkily as possible, as if testing the name on his tongue. "Really, the way you're going on, my robes will be _loose_ by the time you're done," he continued, pouring exasperation into his tone as he felt Snape's sharp gaze on him.

"I – I – I'm sorry, sir, I – "

"Just do it as best as you can, then," Tobias said, turning back to face Lavinia, trying hard to work as much hauteur and boredom into the lines of his body as he could. The exaggerated reproof worked, to an extent. He spotted Katy (blushing what could now be called a fine Weasley red) devoting more attention to the task of arranging the matte black robe material on Harry-Tobias' shoulders and less to – Harry blushed again – his bum. Unfortunately, Lavinia was now eyeing his hair with an expression of avid curiosity. Tobias thought irritably that he now had ample reason to snap at her.

"What are you looking at, Miss – " His face was now naturally rearranging itself into a traditional Snape scowl as Snape looked on approvingly.

"Lavinia, sir," came the low, embarrassed answer.

"So, Lavinia," Tobias inquired, his voice all silky irritation. "Is there something wrong with my head? Birds flapping round it I've not noticed?" Madame Malkin looked up at that.

"No, sir, Mr. Snape," Lavinia muttered, uncomfortable now that her employer _and_ the coolly amused Professor were staring at her. "I was just _wondering_ as why your hair's so long and all. Didn't mean to bother you, sir – "

"On the contrary, I shall explain," Harry said, tipping his head to one side, a sardonic smile edging slowly onto his face. His dark green eyes flicking to Snape's amused black ones, he continued, relaxing into his most natural haughty pose. "Seeing as you're so _interested_…I'm past sixteen, which is the wizarding age of majority in Hungary, so _technically_ I'm an adult." On the spur of the moment, he paused and made sure to give a now-blushing Lavinia a little once-over as his sardonic smile widened. "It also helps matters that my illustrious parents are dead, and that my aunt took a rather violent dislike to me from the start…so, here I am, and here it is," he gave a sarcastic flick of his thick hair, "all _long_."

Tobias saw Snape conceal a little smile as Madame Malkin's eyes bored into him again, and decided it was time to continue with the agreed 'conversation'.

"What else do we still have to get, Severu- " he began, as the two embarrassed (yet clearly intrigued) shop assistants now started to hold up samples of dressier fabrics to Tobias' face.

"As I said before, young Tobias," Severus growled, "I would _much_ prefer that you called me…"

"_Sir_," Tobias cut him off, rolling his eyes a little, "I was just wondering how much else is on the list, _sir_." Madame Malkin's eyes followed the little exchange, as did her assistants, who paused momentarily in their little dance of fabrics and pins.

"Not a great deal, boy. _Do_ try to be patient, will you?" Snape sneered at him. Tobias sneered back, but broke off, batting at Lavinia's hand as it approached him with a sickly green, shiny material. For a moment, he couldn't remember exactly what to _say_ –

_Colours, colours – remember the fucking _colours_, damn you_…_Oh, right – gout. Gouty._

"Dear _god_, no – it'll make me look like I've _gout_ or something…'s like our dear Professor here…"

"Excuse me?" Snape's icy voice cut across the stumbling apology being delivered by Lavinia.

"Take a _joke_, will you…"

"A _joke_, boy?"

"You never wear anything but black, do you? Of course it's a joke – no, not that one either, that's revolting – "

"I fail to see what looking – ah – _gouty_ – has to do with my wearing black, Tobias," sneered Snape, folding his arms and glaring at a now busy Tobias.

"Dear Merlin – no more _green_, if you please, Katy – " Tobias spat, waving away an emerald green Harry Potter would have chosen, almost on instinct, now. "Bring me – bring me creams, silvers, dark blues, for goodness' sake…" He hoped, and hoped _hard_ that he'd said the right ones – he'd been rather useless at remembering the whole spiel of ones that Snape insisted would look better on him.

Tobias fought back an un-Snapely grin for a minute – who knew that his _father_, of all people, had _fashion sense_?

"No black, _Toby_?" Severus spat out the nickname like an insult.

"Don't call me that – "

"Call you what?"

"_Toby_, as if I'm your good little nephew – " he folded his arms, smirking now, "not unless you'd like me to call you _Sevvie_ at school…" Tobias peered at an interestingly shimmer of something that looked like beige silk. "That looks more like it…" He prayed to Merlin it did. Sending it rudely back was a Snapeish thing to do, of course, but he'd rather not put himself through this _again_ for a long time –

"You'll scrubbing floors with Filch for the rest of the term if it comes to that – "

"I'm sure the look on your face would be worth it, _Sev_," Tobias added, smiling nastily. The two dark men exchanged glowers for a long moment, before Tobias began to laugh. "The look on your face _now_, sir – it would be _almost_ worth it – yes, that dark blue will actually do rather well; the one that's almost – yes…" the boy turned his attention back to the scowling Professor, "But _not quite_, sir. Not quite." Tobias flashed a sardonic grin at his 'uncle', relishing the hidden amusement in his eyes as he sniffed and rose.

"If you'll just send the bill by owl, Madame – come, Tobias – you've been most kind…" Tobias hopped off the fitting wheel nimbly, proceeding to kiss the flustered shop assistants' hands in farewell. "Oh leave that, you _silly_ boy – "

"Not silly, Professor," Madame Malkin amended, pink and pleased as Tobias-Harry bestowed a stately kiss on her right hand as well. "_Gentlemanly_ – a fine nephew you have here, Professor…"

"If you've _quite_ finished charming everyone in the shop, Tobias," Severus dryly added as Harry came forth, producing a long roll of parchment.

"It worked, though, didn't it?" Tobias cheeked, unaware that a very Snapeish smile was on his face.

"Insufferable brat."

"Watch it – aren't I your favourite nephew?"

"You're my _least_ favourite nephew, Po – Tobias. Now _do_ hurry, we've got Flourish and Blott's, and Ollivander's to get through as well…"

The trip to Flourish and Blott's went even better – they ran into three Slytherin seventh years, only one of whom Har – _Tobias_ really recognised – _Pucey – something Pucey, I swear it_ –

They were properly respectful to Snape, as usual, and sent a now-surly Tobias – who was purposely pretending to bury himself in a fat book on restricted curses not far from them – a series of rather curious looks. They reluctantly peeled off in a minute, still eyeing the stack of books Tobias was rapidly amassing in the air beside him.

«Think that's enough yet?» Harr – _Tobloodybias_ whispered to his father, gesturing to the pile of slightly shabby, menacing books floating to his right. Severus boggled for a moment, then gave a curt nod, cutting through the crowds with ease as he strode for the till. The clerk there boggled as well, mostly at the dodgy titles of the books he'd picked, Tobias thought, smirking unconsciously, rather than at _him_ or his bloody _backside_. They were shot of Flourish soon after, and heading down the street towards Gringotts, in front of which Severus gave a few curt words of dismissal, his black eyes speaking far differently than his words – _if you DARE get yourself hurt or into trouble, I'll take your body back to the Manor and finish the foolish work you began in that old bathtub_, or something like it, as one never knew with his father's murderous expressions.

Then Tobias was all on his own – _all on my lonesome, now_ – striding down past Gringotts and it's slightly charred façade, past the second-hand robe shop and almost past the over-bright storefront of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, his heart squeezing painfully as he forced himself to give the familiar face at one of the windows nothing but a diffident glance. But suddenly someone's large hand had landed on his arm, and the maddening burst of panic erased everything but the strong intent to hex the arms off of whoever was foolish enough to –

Tobias restrained himself, contenting his seething panic with only a spin and a few feeble sparks from the temporary wand as he turned to face his would-be…attacker…?

Great god, it was _Fred_. Fred, whose freckled, slightly sunburnt face seemed to thrust open a painful aching of things remembered, and _dear Merlin I'm not even coherent, and I've got to say something or_ –

"Excuse me? Do I know you?" Fred's eyes widened just a touch, as he stepped back, eyeing Tobias' still-outstretched wand – _I'm as tall as him – can't be-fucking-lieve it_ –

"Oh, I'm sorry – mistook you for someone…" Fred sputtered, the half-mischievous, half-genial look fading somewhat from his face as Tobias gave him what he honestly thought was only a nonplussed stare, but was really rather more of a glare. Tobias sighed, hiding the fact that his arms were trembling by crossing them, ignoring the bottomless satchel on his shoulder – Severus had palmed it off onto him, of course –

"My uncle, the Professor, I presume," he cut in diffidently, wand now whispering away as he fought a sneer – he'd realised he tended to do that when nervous, it was almost fucking involuntary, sometimes – "Yes, I have been told, ad infinitum, that we are alike from behind. Except," a nasty smile flitted easily to Tobias' face, he just couldn't _resist_ this – "for the hair." Fred's eyes narrowed uncertainly, and a quick (slightly guilty) sweep of his mind told Tobias he was torn between laughing and just looking blank. "We parted company at Gringotts, if you're interested – he's somewhere in…Knocktwist Alley? Whatever the nemernic fuck it's called…" the last part was muttered lowly in a resentful manner – yet not low enough that Fred couldn't hear and be distracted from looking too closely, just in case –

"Oh – um – it's Knockturn Alley," Fred continued bravely, eyeing him up appraisingly. "You must be foreign, er…Mister…?"

"Tobias. Oh, and – yeah, foreign. Romania." Tobias gestured to the small, thriving shop nearby with a tilt of the sharp chin, cutting off any further comments from Fred – it was two-thirty, at the very least – "Fascinating display you've got over there. Good day." Tobias strode away, repressing the urge to snicker at Fred's rather obvious bewilderment, aiming for the shabby little shop of Ollivander without a (severely tempting) look back.

_I can just _imagine_ what he'd say to George – 'that crazy nutter the Greasy Git calls his cousin'_ –

For a minute, as he ducked carelessly into Ollivander's, Tobias wondered uncomfortably if he'd given himself away with the shop comment, but then Mr. Ollivander's grey head had poked round some corner in the dimness of the place, and the door had shut behind him almost before he was even in the room.

"Why," Ollivander said, approaching almost reverently, pale eyes bright with something that looked strangely like relief, "it _is_ you, Mr. Potter…" He stepped out from behind a slightly tottering shelf of narrow wand boxes, approaching a rather unnerved Tobias rapidly, moon-like eyes flickering up and down and up and down – "I take it your father is in Knockturn Alley?"

_What the_ –

"Excuse me?" Ha – Tobias demanded sharply, feeling oddly backed into a corner, even as he drew toward the spindly chair in the empty shop.

"No Glamour, Mr. Potter – it is obvious, if one knows what to watch for…" a papery old hand extended smoothly out, beckoning. "Wand, please…"

Tobias handed it over, biting back the fact that anyone could just _barge_ in here and what the _fuck_ would they make of Mr. Ollivander calling _him_ Mr. Potter –

Ollivander stroked the wand meditatively, examining the scratches in its polish, spiriting another wand from nowhere – it looked _awful_, all odd and pulpy and –

Glowing, spidery tracks of red and gold wound their way round the rude, soft cylinder of wood, shining unearthly bright in the dim, narrow shop. Tobias leaned forward against his own inclination, for that was his wand – he could feel it in his blood, the almost poignant welcoming glow –

"Patience, young sir." Ollivander plucked an ornate, obviously hollow wand from seemingly nowhere, and yet another, much older, much more – _present_ – article. Tobias felt his eyes widen, for _that_ could only be the wand of Ollivander _himself_. "It is unfortunate that you are in need of such haste, Mr. Potter," the old man murmured, somehow inserting Tobias' pulpy mess of a wand into the ornate hollowed-out wand, "This is usually a longer, more – shall I say, _customised_ process, and produces a far finer finished product than," he brandished the longer, rather swishy, ornate wand, "this."

"As long as it works," Tobias found himself saying, itching to get his fingers back on the thing, no matter what it looked like, his awe of the old, mysterious man standing before him no match for the craving for the feeling of _warmth_, of _rightness_ his own wand seemed to give off. He was not disappointed – Ollivander handed him the new wand carefully, Banishing his temporary one as a breathless Tobias reached out and took hold.

The sting of warmth, of _power_, nearly made him drop it. By Merlin, it _was_ his wand – but somehow changed, somehow sharper…Tobias gave it a gentle swish and flick, unaccustomed to the new suppleness, and nearly fell out of the spindly chair as the room seemed to fill with a pale silver shimmer as unearthly as the threads of gold and red in his pulpy old wand.

"_Indeed_," Ollivander breathed beside him – _how did I get to my feet, anyway?_ – as the shimmer descended to the floor, sparkling briefly before seeming to sink into the wand boxes and the floor, into their very skin. "You are possibly the most interesting customer I have had in years, Mr. Snape…" Tobias jerked round at him, tearing his green gaze reluctantly away from the wand as he felt the odd shimmer settle into him too.

"But what about your – your money – it's so – it's such a – "

"Your debt has already been paid, Mr. Snape," Ollivander's soft tone cut easily into his rambling, accented English as he struggled to find words to _explain_ – "Only use it wisely, and well. Your wand is now willow, holly and phoenix feather – the hollow wand is rather old, and a trifle _too_ ornate for my tastes, but it was the best we could offer on such short notice."

"We?"

"My son and I, Mr. Snape. If I am not mistaken, it is already time for you to depart – ah, here comes your uncle." Ollivander strode to the door, where a rather unnerved Severus stood, shifting an oddly wriggling paper package in his black-clad arms. "Good afternoon, Severus."

"You are already finished," he replied, swaying uncertainly just inside the doorway. "I thought – "

"Young Martin's selection was the only one that made sense, on seeing your – ah – nephew, Professor Snape." Severus' face darkened into a scowl, but he did nothing but nod and thank the old man rather more expressively than usual, his keen eyes roving the wand Tobias still clutched possessively in his right hand. "Tell Dumbledore we accept, if you please. Good day…" And with those cryptic parting words, Ollivander had ghosted off to the tottering pile from whence he came, and Severus was hustling a wildly inquisitive Tobias out the worn shop door, into the bustling daylight of Diagon Alley.

They continued rapidly to the Leaky Cauldron in silence, Tobias trying, all the while, to stop stroking his real, newly fashioned wand.

"A most successful trip," Snape muttered his way, just before Tobias stepped up to the jar of Floo powder, scowling as he prepared to leave. "Mind you say the words loud, Tobias…"

A curt nod and a shift that blasted satchel later, Tobias was raising his voice once more, surreptitiously noting the further curious glances sent their way.

"Snape Manor!"

* * *

_A/N:_

_Rapid review responses to all and sundry (because I'm lazy and a bit overwrought at the moment, sob): _

_Thanks generally to all those who reviewed – Spirit White, Danu3, duj, Danaan, kooie, Nightmare alley, Triton Bloom and jmljasmine._

_Answers Ahoy!_

_Hope the sexual part of chapter nine wasn't too overwhelming – I thought, at first, that I'd get graphic for the hell of it, but it just doesn't fit right now. And besides, I'm a girl – what do I know about wanking lads, anyway? _

'_Things My Father Rants About' is so _Snape_ – I bet if anyone spent as much time around him as Harry did, they'd know the list intimately, because he rather loops and repeats himself on certain issues even in canon i.e. Harry Is Useless, All Gryffindors Are Berks, All Slytherins Are Smarter, Dumbledore Can Be An Ass, The Dark Lord Is A Fiendish Bastard (private rant, maybe), e.t.c._

_Coincidence, eh? I did okayish on the first test, haven't got back results of the second test yet. It's so weird – every time I really get a rush to write, I find myself needing to channel that rush into doing other things as well, and I haven't done that so well this test-time around, I guess. _

_There _is_ no fake Harry. Remus meant a fake Tobias when he said that – he doesn't make much distinction between the two so far, I think._

_Pronouncing Tobias? Er…ToBIas? Toe-BY-as? That's how I do it, at least. Dictionary, maybe? Can't be bothered right now._

_I'm really, _really_ glad you think my writing is original. That's the biggest problem with the Severitus genre, I think – not enough people really trying to do something new. I just see the whole challenge as an encouragement to _think_ and really push the boundaries of what is believable. This fic in less competent hands, I know, would probably have been execrable – the type of thing one swears at before hitting the Back button, you know, not because the idea sucks, but because the person hasn't worked well with it. /Soliloquy Thanks, anyway._

_I'm glad some people are getting here from Yahoo groups (Lord knows I spent enough times trying to sneak my fic into the conversation). About the slowness – I think I may see what you mean, like how Harry's been stuck basically in the same place all this time and so on. But I do really need to spell out what _happens_ during this time – these are the icky periods authors seem to love skipping, the actual development, the actual training and so on, when it doesn't involve shipping or fighting with, uh, say, Draco, or something. I understand, but damn do I need to do this – I need to show how close Harry and Severus are sort of getting, as well as his relationship with Remus and Dumbledore, _and_ make sure you know what's going on outside. I just thought it'd be interesting to really show how he gets all the OMG-SUPER-SPESHUL skills, and debunk the recurring fantasy most authors have recourse to, and just foreshadow things a bit. Try not to skip the slow bits of talking and whatnot – some of them actually give important details or things you'll need in the back of your mind at some point. Or whatever._

_Jaysus, but I've gone on a roll. Sorry I haven't updated my LJ in a bit – just haven't felt up to it, to tell the truth. And this chapter was weird to hammer out in the beginning, too, so…Blame the chapter! The College Tests! NOT ME! Next chapter tentatively named: _Chapter 11: Détente At Nightfall_. Will include the frantic last-minute preparations of Harry and Severus. Tired. Sleepy. Off I go._

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	11. Chapter 11: Détente At Nightfall

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_A/N: This is it, folks. The one, the only…final chapter of PTS! _

_Usual disclaimer applies, as I own nothing._

_Will tell you absolutely nil about this chapter, as I've no idea what's going into it at this point in any case, see?_

_:D Cannot believe I've actually FINISHED this…_

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**Chapter 11: Détente At Nightfall **

I pause at the front door of Snape Manor, my sharp ears picking up the sound of what I know instinctively to be a heated argument between Severus and – who else – Harry. The wind is high here, prodding cold fingers into my slightly less tattered cloak – a favourite of mine for visits here. Almost everything is unpredictable about this old Manor, you see – never hurts to have something you can rely on in a pinch to protect you from a hex when Harry's feeling mischievous.

I slip in, shoulders hunched as I quietly shut the door, the countercharm for the Disillusionment Charm falling easily from my lips from months of practice. Now that 'Tobias' had officially arrived in England, me, Albus and Severus have deemed it the most practical thing for Harry to move into the Manor proper. _That_, unfortunately, constituted at least three days' work of dragging the crumbling old place from 'barely habitable' to 'almost habitable', and several hours' worth of violent bickering between Harry and his – I only just manage not to cringe – father.

The thought still hurts, of course, that James and Lily had it so fucking _wrong_, and I couldn't _see_ it. I saw signs, of course, but I knew them, or thought I did. Passing it off as slightly more serious bickering was not hard.

But to see Harry now, after all Severus' help –

"(1) Desigur, Severus, _desigur_ – "

Sighing, I head for the raised voices, only able to make out that they are arguing in Romanian. My mind turns over the memory of the first time I set foot here in, what – seventeen, eighteen years? Seeing Harry's weakened body on that bed – even from the rather precarious angle I was held in by a, now that I let myself look back on it, justifiably over-cautious Severus – was one of the most shocking, joyful moments of my life, second only to meeting Sirius in the Shack. Admittedly, dealing with Harry's temper tantrums and added vitriolic intensity (only complex words suffice for his rages, now) has been challenging, and sometimes almost maddening, but, looking on Harry's lean, healthy frame as I see him tonight makes it seem worth it.

Even if he _is_ currently screaming what sounds like a hundred imprecations in his stormy father's face at the moment, I'd hold myself to that.

_Right, then. Approach cautiously –_

"Severus – Harry, what's – "

"Stay out of it!" both of them order, almost without thinking. I roll my eyes – their dynamic is almost set in _stone_, for crying out loud – and, shrugging diffidently, try out one of the fairly decent-looking couches in the oversized living room the two of them have evidently been working on for the past one or two hours. Then Severus lets off a rapid string of Romanian – _manages to sound insulting even when you can't understand what the bloody hell he's saying, as usual_ – that seems to anger Harry so much that he actually does the unthinkable.

Turns to _me_.

"Remus, seriously, you've _got_ to hear this – he thinks my idea for causing 'disturbances' doesn't have any _merit_ – " My eyebrows rise almost of their own accord, even as I fight to keep a straight face. I recall, now, not thinking much of _that_ idea either – how the hell a fucking _party_ is going to distract every dodgy little twerp in Slytherin house enough that the Order's activities go unnoticed is slightly beyond my ken– but I make an effort to let go of that thought very quickly. Harry's become unpredictable about using Legilimency, once Severus beat it into him around two weeks ago, and it would _not_ be pretty if –

"And _that_ is because they do _not_, _Toby_," Severus hisses back, fists balling up at his sides. I try not to cringe – or even show any emotion but calm acceptance, or whatever the bollocks it is. Severus always seems like a tightly coiled spring whenever I'm with him and Harry, together, nowadays.

My keen sense tells me he might be jealous, but, bloody hell, I can't _see_ it, much less _understand_ it. Severus Snape, jealous of _me_? I look away and cross my legs, out of habit, because it's just – unthinkable.

My brain urges me to _think_ about it – _fine, fine_ – and I do, for a split second, as Harry turns his attention back to his father. I don't stay here as much as Severus does – _anti-reason #1_ – because the Order activities, which have gone up like nothing before after Minister Orwell's eager agreement to aid the Order. Then again, I always try to have a chat with Harry whenever I'm here, and that usually involves something silly from my day, to break the ice. Only once the ice is broken, Severus returns - _anti-reason #2_ – scowling fit to kill himself, and the ice is either fully formed by the end of my stay, or melting and spewing forth as boiling hot water as a result of one of their disagreements. Or Severus stays and glowers at me, interrupting my wimp, leading anecdotes – _anti-reason #3_ – and I decide it isn't worth the headache trying to talk about anything serious.

Then again, Harry and I are almost always laughing, just before he gets back, and the whole bother seems to lessen on seeing that new smile of his forcing the rest of his taut face to relax. A slightly foolish, fond half-smile forms against my will, and, to my misfortune, Severus glances at me, just at that moment.

And his scowl becomes almost _manic_. I blink hard, and then it really hits me. I let it impact, feeling the realisation spread through my body as Severus snarls something in Romanian at Harry. So. He doesn't like me smiling, or, probably, knowing Severus, _laughing_, around Harry, which is silly, because that's what I've always tried to –

Shite. _Reason #1_, then – I make him laugh.

_But…but that's so _stupid my brain responds in disbelief.

So I make Harry laugh sometimes. So _what?_ I only laugh with Harry because he needs it. When I'm away, it's Severus, his bloody _dad,_ that deals with everything – things like almost drowning in that god-forsaken fucking tub from pure panic aren't the things Harry likes to laugh about. _Or_ talk about, refer to, hint at – if there's a master at hiding his feelings now, it's that dark-haired young man angrily fidgeting in front of me.

My half-smile wants to fade, but I won't let it, because Harry's looking over at me again. Show no emotion, hide no already perceived emotion, see? Rule number one, for dealing with Harry now, I promise you.

For a crazy instant, I really, really want to burst into a decidedly non-werewolf-like giggle. Albus had that down to a fine art before the fiasco of his fifth year, but has really lost the plot, even now, when Harry doesn't hiss and spit and ignore as much. Even Severus just says whatever the hell he feels like saying or sneering, and gets on with it, even getting away with putting Harry in his place (according to Severus) every so often. Me? _I_ am the master of Dealing With Harry.

So it stings when all he does, or _wants_ to do, is laugh.

"Severus," Harry continues impatiently – _another battle lost, there_ – "you know I can't go round exploding – what, _cauldrons_, or – or fucking _fireworks_ every time you and Dumbledore's Tinpot League," the words are emphasized, viciously, "decide to do a bit of challenging down at the local Voldemort lair, you _know_ that – someone, _anyone_ would see a fucking pattern, it's too bloody – "

"And your suggestion to _remedy_ that is to prance around half naked in the Slytherin dungeons with your more wand-happy peers to the dregs of wizarding music, Tobias? Pathetic in the extreme – "

"One of these days," Harry snarls back, in the very same tone, "I'm going to _hex_ you so you can't say that word – "

"Oh, the great Harry Potter has _threatened_ me. Pardon me, Lupin," a sneering Severus turns on me, "if I hide behind your tattered skirts in abject terror. Soothe and _save_ me, if you will – "

"As always, you make this about mocking me instead of about my _idea_," hissed Harry, taking a menacing – and it really was – step towards his father. "It's just a fucking _suggestion_, for _God's sake_ – "

_Okay_ – things look about to get out of hand now. I'll just –

"Severus, why don't we just _listen_ – it wouldn't hurt to talk to Albus about it, now, would – "

"I recall," Severus spat, turning menacingly on me, "telling you to _stay out of it_ – "

"Oh, so _he_ can't be on my side, now, can he, just because you think my idea is _pathetic_?" Harry retorts, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. I want to sigh – he keeps manipulating all of us this way, playing each against the other in such a – "That is such _bollocks_– "

"_I recall_," Severus begins to shout, turning on his smug son, "_YOU telling HIM to STAY OUT OF IT just as loudly as ME_ – "

"Look, it's _fine_, I'll stay out of it – " I interject helplessly, even as the malicious satisfaction in Harry's eyes turns rapidly to something else –

"_What IS IT with you?"_ he shouts back, hoarsely, radiating anger and consternation like a magical furnace, "_You KEEP DOING THIS, every fucking time I bring him up _– _every FUCKING time he gets here _– "

"_Give me one good reason why NOT!"_ Severus shouts back, just as hoarsely, moving so close to Harry that they're practically in each other's faces. "_You are DISGUSTINGLY PATHETIC – you treat him like HE is your father – like I have not done everything for you, would not do ANYTHING_…" Harry stills in shock, as I have already done. The _look_ on his face – bloody _hell_, the look on _Severus'_ face makes me want to sink into the floor – slink off out of the Manor –

Severus is gasping for breath now, almost apoplectic with anger and – oh _Merlin_ – shame. Shame that I'm _here_ – that I heard that –

Harry somehow regains his voice, stumbling horribly over everything he tries to say –

"_Severus_ – I didn't mean – I never _said_ – "

"I do not know why I _bother_," Snape snarls, pushing roughly past his son. His eyes fill with malevolence as they alight on me, a _hatred_ that makes me recoil.

_Say something – just say _anything_…_

He doesn't even touch me as he moves swiftly out of the room, leaving me with a stricken, shaking Harry.

I feel even guiltier than before, now, as I turn to Harry, because I'm actually looking _forward_ to this.

Sad, isn't it?

_Or_, I think, turning to the shaking teen beside me, _perhaps not._

The conversation I have with Harry doesn't go well. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, saying wrong – all I _get_ out of him is a series of self-recriminations and a lot of focusing on the door through which Severus left.

In the end, he _does_ laugh, and I want to cry, just for a moment. Then I slam the gates down and return to being Good Old Remus, just for now.

As he leaves, I wonder if there is anything else, for me, with him.

I Conjure a drink and concentrate my attention on that, because I fear the answer is no.

* * *

Harry watched his father storm jerkily from the room, wishing, above all things, that he'd just kept his mouth _shut_. Remus looked horrible all the way through that – stricken, just like Severus did – 

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" he found himself saying, slowly, head spinning so fast with the stupid, _stupid, STUPIDITY_ of saying that, of bringing it up – "Makes you wonder why I'm an orphan, doesn't it?"

"Don't _say that_, Harry – "

"Why not?" Harry replied, shaking his head, almost unable to _breathe_, now – "I shouldn't even have brought it _up_ – I _knew_, and I _said it_ – "

"You didn't _know_, Harry, _I_ didn't know _either_ – "

"_I knew_, Remus – I _knew!_ Don't _treat_ me like this – don't you dare pass this off like I just didn't know what I was saying, all right?" Harry snapped, turning on Remus, too – it wouldn't be fair if he _didn't_, would it? Hysterical laughter bubbled tightly up in his chest, but he kept it down, kept it _away_ – "I knew _exactly_ what I was saying, and you _know_ it. Don't try to make me feel better, because Merlin knows I don't deserve it." Remus fell silent, just looking and _looking_, as Harry's insides writhed with guilt.

_Stupid stupid stupid fucking STUPID –_

"It doesn't mean you need to beat yourself up over it, Harry," Remus began, looking oddly eager to pacify him, somehow –

"Bollocks. I knew this would happen eventually, you know. Just didn't think I'd _start_ it, did I?" Harry shook his head, a mirthless, horrible smile stretching oddly at his lips. "Was there anything you needed to tell us? Anything you need to say?"

Remus' expression twisted oddly, but Harry couldn't see why – maybe he'd offended them both, today, by some twisted logic. He couldn't keep a mirthless laugh from bursting out, now – this was so _ridiculous_, the day hadn't started any _different_, for fuck's sake, and was now turning into a morbid series of hurting people he knew he cared about –

"No," Remus replied, his expression closing up. Harry resisted the urge to pry, just this once. Wouldn't hurt to let it _go_, just _once_, would it?

"Everything's all right, yeah? Tonks okay…?" he couldn't stop himself from prodding. Remus was just looking so –

"Tonks is fine, Harry." Remus replied, rising from his seat on the couch, briefly.

Harry nodded slowly, then forced himself towards the door his father had stormed out through, absently noting that his former professor was Conjuring a cup of tea behind him. He started a little as he realised he'd almost _sensed_ the incantation as much as heard it, behind him, and thought, before he could stop himself, that Severus would be pleased.

Harry snarled at the empty corridor, shaking his head as he wandlessly cast the Four-Point spell.

He had some serious explaining to do.

He snorted as his elegant new wand stopped turning in his hand, at an odd angle.

He had some _grovelling_ to do, more like.

* * *

Severus Snape knew who it was, opening his door like that. 

Of course he _knew_ – his bloody – _brat_ – never deemed it sufficient to open the door by hand. Nothing but a force spell for the Great _Harry_ _Potter_, of course –

He resisted the powerful urge to throw the small flask of Firewhiskey at the door – more because he wanted to _consume_ it than due to any sort of concern for the ungrateful wretch's safety – turning decidedly to face the wall beside his bed. _Pallet would be a more appropriate description for this wretched, threadbare thing, as thin as it bloody is_ –

Severus swore inwardly. Why had he _come_ here, to the dungeon he'd used while 'Tobias' had 'been' in Romania?

He snorted as the familiar footfalls crossed the threshold. _Some stupid sense of sentimentality, no doubt, Merlin knows how the fucking _hell_ it crept up on me_ –

"You already know what I'll say, don't you?" Harry – _dear _Merlin_, I cannot call him anything _else_ now_ – murmured from behind him. Severus refused to move – to capitulate –

But a hand was placed on his shoulder, and his body betrayed him, turning traitorously.

"No reason for me for me to allow you to slither out of making a proper apology, is it?" he spat back, unable to keep the venom from his tone. "Only the great _Harry Potter_ – "

"Oh let that _go_," the boy practically shouted back, wrenching away his irritatingly long hand. Severus turned fully, rising to his feet, his most malevolent sneer in place. But the _brat_ was still speaking – "It's _Tobias Snape_, and you _know_ it," Harry spat, eyes narrowed, chin held high, "and I'll thank you not to _forget_ it."

Severus could not think of a thing to say.

"You really need to let go of that habit, by the way," his son continued, dropping insolently into the mattress where he'd just risen from, "Really, Severus – I'm supposed to be _in hiding_…Things like _that_ tend to give one's cover _away_, you see – "

"Oh be _quiet,_" Severus forced out, rolling his eyes as he grudgingly took a seat beside his son, who gave him a long, drawn out look. "I'm not a _spy_ for nothing, _Tobias_ – you can assure yourself of your _safety_." Severus held on to that image, that _idea_, so hard that he could feel his head hurting.

If anything – _Lucius_ – happened to him – if anything went wrong – if those over-inquisitive _idiots_ the boy had had the gall to call his _friends_ found out –

He refused to look at the boy again – he could practically feel the boy's eyes sweeping him, and then –

A hand snaked onto his shoulder, and they were still for a moment.

_My son, indeed_. The reverie, of course, did not last long. _Tobias_ broke it, perking up to attention in the most fascinatingly horrible manner.

"Oh, you're a _spy_! Really, uncle?"

Severus _did_ look at his 'nephew' then, because that was just so bloody off _topic_ – "Who do you spy _for_? Uncle – do you spy for the Ministry, or just so – "

"Do you need a Silencing Charm, Tobias? Nothing else seems to _suffice_ with you – "

"Oh come _on_, let's not get wand-happy down here – put that – _don't_ – " And the low voice of his son was abruptly cut off. Severus felt an equally traitorous smile twitching onto his face as Harry made increasingly violent rude gestures in his direction, where he twirled his son's sparking wand in the air.

"Now I _do_ think this is rather more pleasant – don't you? _Lovely_, _rational_ conversations we'll be able to have now, don't you think – "

" – BASTARD!" Severus looked down at his son's hands in surprise. They usually glowed slightly when he was trying to work his increasingly shocking wandless magic, and they…hadn't –

Oh, _right_. _Wonder Boy_ was now twirling his wand in his hand, a vicious look (now properly at home on his face) making itself known. And –

"Return my wand _immediately_, Tob – "

Severus' lips stopped moving mid-syllable, as he watched the equally vicious grin spread across his son's face, and realised that he couldn't –

"Merlin's purple _arsehole_ – give that – put me _right_, this _instant_ – you – you - !" Severus felt his fists curl up once more beside him as he loomed threateningly above his evilly chuckling son, the effect spoiled by the fact that the _brat_ had fucking _Silenced_ him as well –

"Ah, ah ah – you didn't say the magic word, _Dad_ – "

What was he _thinking_, flapping his arms about – there was a nonverbal incantation for the countercharm, he _knew it_ –

And the wand was in reach, and – _come _on_ –_

"Say your _prayers_, Potter – _Agitares cubilis!"_ The mattress rippled powerfully under his alarmed son, distracting him just enough – "_Pruriginis!"_ A too-powerful Itching Hex hit Harry just as he managed to scrabble off the bed, and the deed was –

"_Finite prurigo_!"

- done. _Or, rather_, Severus thought exchanging the most juvenile hexes and jinxes that came to mind with his wildly shrieking son, _not quite finished_ -

"Severus? Harry? Is everything all – "

"_Densaugeo!"_

"_Tarantallegra!"_

" – oo _bashtardsh_ – "

And there they were. Severus could hardly believe the state of his dungeon, now – there were scorch marks and injured black robes everywhere, and the bloody pallet had a mind of its own – oh _wait_, there it was, doing an admirable job of strangling the helplessly, compulsively wriggling Lupin. Severus could not help pausing to watch – _simply lovely_ –

"_Silencio! Rictusempra!"_

For the next few minutes, Severus found that there was nothing as torturous as being condemned to silent, immensely foolish giggles while your idiot son scrambled over your body in order to rescue that foul puddle of genes known as the werewolf. He could – barely – remember – nonverbal –

"Oh _Merlin_ – letch me _outch_, _pleashe_ – "

Severus tried to grit his teeth and wait for his _brat_ to simper over Lupin, but, dear _Merlin_ on a _pike_ on the London _Tower_ – trying to – grit –

_Ow – ow – OW – always _hated_ this – kill – son –_

"_Rictusempra!_"

"No – ahaha – "

"_Silencio!"_

And Lupin was captive, then – in very much the same manner. Apart from the fact that the pallet, now on the cluttered floor, seemed to be trying to consume his dancing feet, Merlin knew _why_ –

"And _now_, gentlemen," said a very irritating voice, from somewhere above Severus, out of his (continuously changing) line of sight, "it is my _duty_ to remind you that I am a _Slytherin_, and thus…" Harry de-animated the rabid pallet with a flick of his feeble, overly decorated monstrosity he called a _wand_, "…I _take no sides_. I stab people, such as you, Remus – and you too, _Dad_ – in the back. Consequently," his smoking trouser legs appeared momentarily before Severus, before he convulsed with another cramp of silent, demonical-son-induced laughter, "_I_ _always win_."

Footsteps seemed to move away from him and the silently convulsing werewolf.

"Let that be a lesson to you both, gentlemen. _Finite_…"

"I'll – I'll _shkill_ you – "

"Get _back_ here…this _instant_, you…arrogant little…brat!" Severus rose, chest heaving, stomach cramping with all the _laughing_. A rather dishevelled Lupin did the same from a few yards away, grimacing with pain as they heard the supremely annoying sound of Harry's deep laughter from nearby.

" – you'sh forgotchen I know where you shleep, Potcher!"

" – and I know where you wash your stinking little hide!"

"_Point-me Harry Potter!"_ Severus practically shouted, almost at the same time as the gasping werewolf beside him. But his wand wasn't _moving_ in his palm – what was –

"Facking _blaghdy_ – "

"Wait! The name change – Albus must have – shite, shite shite – "

"_Redushio!_ Oh, that little – _Point-me Tobias Snape!"_ Lupin ordered, glaring at his wand almost as if he could terrorise it into –

– pointing.

"What are you _waiting_ for? He's upstairs, the slimy little _bugger_ – "

"Why the _fuck_ should I trust your pathetic little – "

"Oh _Merlin _– do it _yourself_, why don't you!"

"_Point-me Tobias Snape!"_ So Lupin's wand _did_ appear to have a few basic functions. So _what_ – the important thing was getting _out_ of this bloody dungeon and getting his hands on his son's tricky little arse –

"Don't _push_ me – "

"_Fuck_ off, Lupin – "

"Can't believe you made that fucking _thing_ try to eat me – "

"Get a _grip_, you idiot – " After all, he'd only animated the thing – the further, rather thoughtful added function may have been the little brat's handiwork, for all they knew –

" – same fucking _pallet_ I _transfigured_ for _you_ – "

" – as if I would waste my machinations on your furry hide – "

"Who _the fuck_ are you calling – "

"Yes! You! Lupin! _Furry!"_

"I've _had it_ – "

"From who? That giddy little Tonks _character_, I suppose – "

"You _leave her out of this_ – "

"Oh _dear_, I seem to have hit a _sore spot_ – " _Merlin, but the stupid bastard will live to regret this – always have their weak spots, don't they, these stupid careless werewolf Gryffindors_ –

"Don't you _dare_ – "

"So tell me, werewolf – what way does she like it best?" _Crude, but sufficient. Look at him – one step away from spontaneously combusting_ –

"I'm giving you _one chance_ – "

" – on top? Against one of those crumbling doors?" _Urgh, no – the images – well. Brought it up, may as well –_

" – to _take that back_ – "

" – or does she prefer the eternal _doggy style_ – " – _finish it off_.

"Oh _fuck you_ – as if _you've_ gotten _anything_ in the past _ten years_ – "

"I'll have you _know_ – "

"What? _Where_? _Who?_ I'm _dying _to know – "

"I don't have to explain myself to you – "

"Oh, it's _men_ for you, is it?" Severus felt his heart seize in horror – how did he – no, he bloody _didn't_, he _couldn't_ –

"_FUCK OFF, you pervy arsehole_ – " Because, really – it had taken the company of an overly quiescent Black female to rid himself of the _experience_ that was Walden Macnair, and Lupin had _no business ridiculing_ –

"Arses do it for you, much? Ever tell Lily, _Snivellus_ – "

_He did _not_ just say that_.

"_YOU – YOU keep your mouth SHUT_ – "

"_Couldn't do the maths, could you, SNIVELLUS? Couldn't think to COUNT THE MONTHS_ – "

"_I warn you for THE LAST TIME _– "

" – and _yet, it never OCCURRED to you to CHECK if he was your SON _– "

"_I was NOT AT FAULT_ – "

" – _seeing as you were FUCKING HIS MOTHER_ – "

" – _because dear old JAMES couldn't FUCK her to save his LIFE you mean?"_

"_DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT HIM LIKE THAT, YOU – ADULTERER _– "

"What in the fucking hell is going on?"

Both men had no eyes for the apprehensive teenager – all Severus really felt was _sensible_ at the moment, was rearranging Lupin's disgusting, lying _face_, or perhaps his _knees_ –

"Cut it _out_ – stop it, for Merlin's _sake_, stop _cursing_ each other – this is so _stupid_ – _Expedio! Expelliarmus – Expelliarmus!"_ Severus felt himself thrown against the wall, but could barely even register the sensation of his wand being torn from him –

_Don't need my wand to kill the werewolf, do I_ –

"_Rudentis ligo – Rudentis ligo_ – "

"Get these ropes _off_ me, Harry – "

"Not until you _calm_ the _fuck_ down – _both of you_!" Harry snarled back, shocking them both into sullen silence. "I can't _believe_ this – can't _believe_ the both of you can't be _in the same hallway_ without arguing about something," furious greeneyes raked Severus' prone form, "that happened _sixteen years ago!_" His shout rang at their ears, filling the hallway with pure menace. "Do you know just how _pathetic_ you two sound, arguing over me? For Merlin's _sake_, it's _over_. _Finished_. _DONE WITH!_" Severus could hear Harry taking deep, harsh breaths, trying to calm himself – the corridor was teeming with magic, just now – "You will _let it go_, understand? You'll either let _go_ of this stupid feud over me – over my _mum_, for crying out loud – or I'll stop _speaking_ to you. _Both of you_. _Understand!"_

And, naturally, the next sound that reached all their ears is the one they hoped for least – the sound of the cheery whistle of Albus Dumbledore.

Severus groaned, deeply ashamed. How this would _look_ –

Footsteps barely sounded on the twisted steps a few metres away, then stilled in shock.

Lupin cleared his throat, the very _act_ sounding profoundly ashamed. Bloody werewolf –

"Severus, Remus – what on earth _happened_ to you…?" Albus' footsteps quickened over to the prone form of Lupin, slowing again, as he saw whose wand was menacing them both. "Harry – "

"They were about to tear each other apart over the fact that I got _born_, sir," Harry interjected snidely. "Bit of a harsh thing to kill someone over, isn't it, Severus?"

"He _insulted_ me – "

"Nothing more than you deserved for insulting James!"

"And I suppose it didn't _occur_ to you that if _I_ was an adulterer, then your precious _Lily_ was one as well?"

"_Stop it! Both of you!"_

Severus started in his prison of ropes, eyes drawn irresistibly towards the weary old man nearby, who, for a moment, briefly channelled all the hidden power he truly held.

"This is _not_ the time for discussing the past, and you both should _know_ that," Albus said, advancing on Severus' fallen form. "We have important decisions to make, important things to _discuss_. You will both pull yourself together, understood? I will hear no more of this bickering." A sigh worked its way into the dim air of the dungeon corridor, and Severus could just see his son stowing away his still-glowing wand. The ropes binding him fell, and Severus got jerkily to his feet, steadfastly refusing to look at the monstrous _fool_ beside him. "I assume your things are packed, Harry?"

"Managed to find some time, sir." Severus did not flinch at the scorn in that voice – he'd faced it before, and he'd face it again –

"Good, good...if you would lead the way to a dungeon that is – " Albus peered past Severus' stiff frame into his wildly disordered dungeon, " – relatively intact, we may begin speaking of our plans."

"Why down here," Harry asked, making no move to obey the already ambling Headmaster, "instead of upstairs? Are the wards down here more concentrated, or – "

"It is, indeed, as you have guessed," Albus replied, a little tiredly, apparently over the hesitation that usually followed such direct queries from the boy these days. "Severus, Remus, _do_ rouse yourselves. I do not have much time, this evening." Severus jerked abruptly into a stiff walk. That the Headmaster would _admit_ that he was pressed for time – "Harry – did you add – "

"Oh, sorry. Forgot about those, yeah…" His tall son edged past him to touch the dungeon door, which opened with slightly dizzying alacrity. Severus felt his gut tighten in added shame – he'd forgotten the new wards Harry had been trying out earlier in the week as well, in addition to his _folly_, of course – "Chairs, right?" Before any of the three older men could nod or affirm his son's abrupt, well-meaning request, four chairs had winked into the dungeon, which had been empty but for an old trunk and a few garments draped on top of it. "Um…you might want to be careful with these – they tend to disappear after an hour or so. No idea why."

Nevertheless, he sat down in the smallest chair, the lines of his body arranged as if for a challenge. Severus grunted noncomitantly despite his admiration for the boy's tactic. Harry had Conjured the chairs so that the one he sat in was slightly apart from the other three, given the meeting a time limit _and_ not allowed much room for dispute, all in one action. A slightly sad smile lit Albus' face as he took the one of the comfortable seats that was closest to Harry, and, surprisingly, began to speak.

"All is ready for your return, Harry. As planned, you will be residing in the male Slytherin Sixth Year dormitory. The extra wards have already been added in gradual layers, so that none of the current occupants of the dormitory suspect any foul play." Severus found himself forced to sit next to the monstrous fiend that was Lupin. It didn't help to know that Albus had almost _certainly_ manoeuvred him into the precarious position by the side of the werewolf, either. "You will take your morning lessons with the Slytherin sixth years every day, and spend, as we agreed last week, your afternoon lessons with your – ah – uncle. From this hour on, I advise that you refrain from answering to anything but your new name, to better ease your journey this evening – "

"Today?" Harry – no, _Tobias_ interrupted, jutting out his chin in a manner absurdly reminiscent of his old self, "But I thought – "

"It is safer that you leave today, instead of tomorrow, Harry. The Daily Prophet has been full of unfounded rumours of an attack on the Hogwarts Express, and we have cause to believe that the rumours are far _less_ unfounded than they appear. As we have already determined that we will take no chances with your safety, it is natural that you should leave this evening." Tobias nodded slowly, his now defensive posture starting to relax somewhat. "Where is Iona, Tobias?"

Severus blinked at the rapid – and rather random – change of subject, but his son was already replying, even as he fiddled with that ridiculous wand.

"She's sleeping in the trunk, in the top compartment. And yes, the antidote's right beside her, in case some innocent idiot goes through me and the wards on that trunk and gets bitten for their idiocy." At the blanched look on Lupin's face – _that_ idiot had never gotten quite used to the snake's presence – Har - Tobias rolled his eyes. "I'm joking, of course. She's upstairs in the drawing room, and she'll be in my sleeve, so I can keep an eye on her. Safer, eh?"

"_How?_" Severus could not keep himself from exclaiming. The boy never _thought_ – "And if some _innocent idiot_ hears you speaking Parseltongue, what then?"

"Didn't we sort this out last week? I thought I'd just try not to hiss at her – maybe say one or two words, but just make it look like I'm good with snakes, instead of like I may be Harry Potter the Parselmouth…?" Snape closed his mouth grimly, inwardly bristling at the smug look his son gave him then. "Right. Thought so."

"Severus," Albus spoke quickly, cutting into what _he_ probably thought would become another argument. The old _bastard_ didn't even have faith that Severus could – "you _have_ taught him the Anti-Tracking Charm, have you not?"

Severus found himself nodding stiffly, at the same time with the brat. He bristled further, wishing that little _idiot_ was not so much like him, did not know his weaker points so well – "If you would demonstrate, Tobias…?"

"_Induo incantatem_," Har - Tobias intoned boredly, shaking some tendrils of overly shiny hair back as his wand shivered, familiar white lines seeming to snake up and down the length and disappear. At Albus' approving nod, he changed it back, giving his father a resentful look as he spoke again: "_Finite indutus_."

_You needed to learn that charm_, Severus felt like snapping. _It was _important_ to practise it, for Merlin's sake_ –

"And the charm for name concealment?"

"Incantation _Dissimulo nominis_, countercharm incantation being _Aperio nominis_." Severus nodded despite himself – he'd made sure to drum the dangers of _that_ charm into the boy's thick head. It was a useful spell for – well, for spies, helping them to deter and mask discovery by making their intrepid discoverer only able to call them by their adopted name. However, if performed wrongly, or with too much power, it could either backfire on the caster, ensuring they forgot their own _name_ for an indefinite period of time, or permanently make the victim – _subject_ – forget the caster's name.

"Excellent." Albus rose abruptly, startling all three wizards as he continued to speak. "As I said, I have little time left to spend. I will contact you through Severus, as agreed. I believe you were able to procure the tickets, Remus?"

"Yes, Albus, but – "

"As long as Severus and Tobias are present on the evening professors' train to Hogwarts this evening, I will be most satisfied, Remus. I have a meeting with the Minister, and my timed Portkey is set to activate soon, so forgive my brevity. Tobias," The Headmaster turned on Tobias, looking harried and rather ill at ease, "I _am_ sorry – I would see you off, if it were possible, but – "

"Has everyone forgotten I'll just be moving to Hogwarts?" Tobias cut in, an odd smile playing at his lips. "It's no problem, really, sir." Albus stood very still for a moment, his blue eyes burning into Tobias' own gaze. He straightened, slowly, the familiar twinkle returning as he nodded his goodbyes, and, in a moment, was no longer there.

Severus could not bring himself to break the absurdly comfortable silence that Albus had left behind.

Silent moments, such as these, would be few and far between at Hogwarts, after all.

Severus was the first to rise from his oddly quaking chair. The first to snort at Lupin as his reverie was interrupted by the disappearance of his own chair, and the first to send off the partly exasperated, partly mollified look in the direction of his wickedly chuckling son. The first to leave the dungeon, the first to suggest (snidely) that his still-chuckling son levitate the trunk and attendant garments upstairs and save them an extra task later on.

The first to extend a (disdainful) hand Lupin's way in wary truce. The first to hex his artlessly smiling son, and the first to flee the scene, chortling and heavily out of breath. The first to return when the sounds of a scuffle ceased alarmingly, and, consequently, the first to be hexed by an avenging Tobias.

The first to re-enter Harry's dungeon – _Tobias'_ dungeon – and wonder stupidly why it was empty.

The first to re-enter his dungeon, but not the first to repair the damage. Tobias' slightly pink face at their hasty little tea told him the answer to _that_ question, though neither he nor Lupin admitted to the deed when asked.

But, that evening, he was the last to leave the close little dungeon, after disabling the wards. He stayed, despite the odd red spatters they'd been unable to expunge, where his son's pallet had been. Despite the almost debilitating anger that seized him on remembering what the boisterous, sneaky teen had _been_, two or three months ago.

He stayed for the silence.

* * *

(1) Desigur – of course.

* * *

_A/N: Yup. That's it. To forestall needless questions, let me just say a couple things:_

_1. My theory of the Hogwarts Express in this story is that the train doesn't make overly regular journeys except around pivotal dates in the school year, and three to five defined extra dates a year, so people would need to arrange their journeys and holidays around its schedule if they needed to travel to Hogwarts at some point. The Express makes four trips between King's Cross and Hogsmeade around Easter, namely two at the beginning of the holiday, and two at the end. That is, one train for the exclusive use of professors (and their families, perhaps), and one for the use of students._

_And that _is_ it. Part the Third should begin sometime this weekend, or next week, if I'm really busy. Thanks for sticking with me this long, guys!_

* * *


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